Lovehammer: BM Edition
by Lovehammer Inc
Summary: A frequently sweet and funny collection of drabbles by Bloody Mary of SpaceBattles, with some guest appearances. Just one warning, they are in no particular chronological order, but have fun!
1. Biscuits

Aaaand here is the first of the drabbles by Bloody Mary~

{oOo}

The biscuits lay untouched. They looked like fine specimen of biscuitdom and this was precisely why none had dared to touch them. Princess Serenity had many virtues, but being a good cook was not one of them. Unfortunately, for reasons known only to her, she kept trying to improve. The results were poor: if she managed to produce something edible, it always looked horrible. On the other hand, any meal that came from under her hand and looked well, was usually too foul to eat for anyone.

Mortarion was the most recently found Primarch and had yet to experience Serenity's cooking experiments. Before anyone could warn him, he picked one biscuit up and took a bite. Too the confusion of Horus, he seemed to enjoy the taste.

The Emperor's favourite son gathered his courage and took a bite of one of the biscuits. He had to promptly spit it out: if he were to describe the taste, phrases such as "a wet cat's backside" and "old socks mixed with garbage" would have been liberally applied. Well, perhaps he'd be more verbose and less vulgar about it, but it was hard to avoid a certain crudeness when describing the taste.

He gave Mortarion a suspicious look, just as his gaunt brother ate the seventh biscuit with all signs of enjoyment. Horus nearly tried another one, but even his boldness had its limits. Mortarion, meanwhile, calmly finished his eight one and looked up at Horus.

"Mmm?"

The amount of innocent confusion in his brothers gaze astounded Horus. Mainly, because Mortarion's face just wasn't the kind of face he would associate with innocence, but also because it seemed like the other Primarch truly did enjoy the biscuits.

"You… like those?" Horus managed weakly.

Mortarion nodded in reply. Horus waited a moment, before he realized that no verbal response was following.

"How about you tell Serenity then?"

This time Mortarion shook his head. Horus wondered briefly if the whole conversation would be like this. It was almost like talking with Corax only without the undercurrent of "You talk too much, Horus".

"Oh come now," he continued. "She'll be very happy-"

"They're awful," Mortarion suddenly spoke up.

"But you said-" Horus started only to be interrupted again.

"I like awful food."

{oOo}


	2. The Wolf and the Rose I

{oOo}

They called her Thora, though the name had always sounded wrong for some reason. Still, she couldn't think of the right name to call herself. She was alone in the crowd: too strong and too eager to fight to fit in with the other women, but the wrong gender to join the hunting and the fighting, unless the situation was truly dire.

Now, clan Russ had a new member, the wild boy, to whom their head had taken a liking. It was his unbroken spirit that the old man had found admirable, but the very same spirit had all the other women frightened. The youth was big, strong and aggressive. Thora was the only one brave enough to bring him food.

She carefully pushed the door open, balancing the tray on one hand. The boy was sitting in the furthest corner, golden eyes watching her intently. Thora placed the tray on the floor and took a step back, waiting for the youth to start eating. By now, he was used enough to her company to do that, but it took quite a lot of convincing.

As she had expected, the boy rose soon enough and ate the whole meal in two gulps. He remained on the spot that time, watching her with a frown. Then, to her shock, he grinned, displaying worryingly sharp teeth. It was almost a miracle she didn't flinch.

"You could try thanking me, you know?" she said, smiling cautiously back.

Naturally, she did not expect him to answer. While children rarely survived alone in the wilderness, there had been cases similar to his. As far as Thora knew, none of them had managed to learn to speak once found. Nevertheless, she thought she'd try.

"If I get more," the youth replied and this time Thora didn't manage to stay composed. True the sentence sounded like a growl, but the boy had spoken. Thora gaped at him, shocked.

"Will I?" the youth asked, clearly not realizing that he was doing something out of ordinary.

{oOo}

"You want me to pierce your ears?" Thora asked, looking up at Leman. She put away her knife and wiped her hands against her apron, looking at the newest addition to clan Russ.

Leman, quite unabashed, used his size and reached past her to fish out a herring from the plate she had been preparing. He took a bite, knowing full well that she was not going to chide him for this act of kitchen thievery.

"Mhm," he nodded, before fishing out a pair of newly-made ear-rings with his free hand.

Thora blinked: the two pieces of jewelry had been made from fangs of some beast. She had heard Leman had slain one of those enormous white bears recently, but she had not been aware they had such large teeth.

"They're from the she-wolf that…um… fed me?" he attempted to explain. There was a lot left unsaid, but Thora thought she understood. She wore a necklace that had once belonged to the woman, who had adopted her, after all.

"Well, you'll have to wait until I wash my hands," she said, pushing another herring in Leman's direction.

He looked around, before leaning down and placing a rather clumsy kiss on her cheek. Thora blinked, wondering why she thought he wanted to do something else.

{oOo}


	3. Visions in Red I

{oOo}

Magnus saw her first in front of a huge bonfire. Black hair spilled down her back as she stared into the flames. He had never seen her before and curiosity got the better of him. Instead of heading to the library like he intended, he remained there watching the woman's back.

The fire was odd; had it not been impossible, he would have said she was talking with the flames. He could almost hear the whispers, but they were not meant for him.

Then, she rose and turned around to face him. Her eyes were purple and focused, set in a regal face.

"Knowledge will bring you pain," she said. "Obedience is a virtue."

They stared at each other for exactly one minute. Magnus tried to catch a glimpse of what the woman meant, but the Warp slipped away from his view, unreadable and ineffable as ever. All he could see was fire, red and hot, dancing around him.

"The flames will say nothing more."

Her words snapped him out of vision. He felt frustrated; her words were mysterious, leaving him with more questions then before she had spoken. What was even worse, she claimed unable to explain.

"But I don't think they meant you should stop going to the library," she added, smiling half-mockingly. "There are some books I want to read. You can accompany me."

Her behaviour was not what Magnus was used to and so, instead of being insulted, he fell into step next to her. Curiosity got the better of him.

A new flame started burning on Prospero.

{oOo}


	4. Fields of Asphodel I

{oOo}

The child was silent, staring up at Mortarion with big pitch-black eyes. It puzzled him: she had been crying a moment ago and once he came into view she had stopped. In his experience his sight frightened people, yet the child seemed calmed by it.

He knelt down, frowning. Who would leave a baby in the middle of the forest? At least she was wrapped up in a blanket, but it still seemed wrong. Maybe her parents had no other choice? But… she'd be dead then.

He felt torn. On the one hand, it was a baby, all alone and helpless. On the other hand, it was a suspicious thing. He couldn't leave her, but taking her was a risk.

A moment later logic and worry left his mind. The little girl gurgled and waved her hand in his direction. She liked him. The little, fragile thing liked him. Not because he was the only person strong enough to stand up to the warlords and their dead servants; not because he was the only person smart enough to create suits resistant to the poisonous fog that hid the mountains. She just did.

He carefully picked the girl up, dumbfounded as to why she seemed not to mind.

{oOo}

The girl looks like a porcelain doll; beautiful and fragile. The only outward similarity she and Mortarion share is paleness, and even this is not very pronounced. Her skin is like virgin snow, his is scared and grayish.

And yet she calls him brother and holds his hand when they watch the mountains. Neither speaks.

No word is said, when Mortarion has to leave and fight. She simply watches her brother go, leading the militia to war.

Then, one day, when he is not there, the dead come. The girl faces them calmly, silent as ever.

Like her brother, she is a Guardian of Death.

{oOo}


	5. Diary of a Farseer

{oOo}

This is my warning for the future generations. The galaxy holds things were are not meant to understand and at best we may attempt to stop them from carrying out their unfathomable purpose.

The mon'keigh may appear weak and pathetic with their miniscule lifespan and weak Warp-sensitivity. They are a joke, compared to us. We have every right to feel superior.

Yet they have spawned their so-called Emperor. He spurns them to grind all that is not human under humanity's heel. For ages he remained hidden, even from us. For what purpose, I do not know. Any other mon'keigh given his powers would have taken over his weaker brethren many times over and he emerged only recently.

Do not be fooled by their Princess either. She may appear more willing to co-operat, but she is the Emperor's chosen heir. Would he really let his successor profess such a different ideology, if it weren't furthering his goal?

This cannot be true. They are both carrying out some plan that we cannot grasp, playing a game with the galaxy as their board and other beings as pawns.

We must oppose them, for allying with them, may give them a chance to subvert us. Our survival is paramount and we cannot trust beings we do not understand. Their purpose may be contrary to our survival.

I looked at him once. He glows in the Materium. He burns in the Warp.

I looked at her and the Warp was calm.

The Warp was calm.

Calm.

Calm.

Calm.

Calm.

_Wrong._

The Writings of Farseer Kreapelin

{oOo}


	6. Castles in the Fog I

Perturabo had suspected many things, when he discovered that the man who called himself his father had arranged a marriage for him. He wondered if it was some sort of a trap, then considered the possibility of his adoptive father having gone crazy, then he pondered on the eventuality of this being a plot of the family of the bride-to-be. Then he realized he was excluding the fact that it could be his fiancée that could be plotting. By the time the young woman entered the door, Perturabo was, in all seriousness, considering the whole meeting would involve a three-way battle and a collapsing ceiling.

Instead, he was faced with a pretty blue-haired woman in glasses. He wondered how she managed to dye her hair so well: the roots weren't showing at all, and her eyebrows were blue too. Maybe it was the effect of some odd disease to which she was immune, but would kill everybody else.

She curtsied, his adoptive father nodded at her and Perturabo bowed. Nobody died, which was as suspicious as somebody dying as far as Perturabo was concerned. If somebody had died, it would mean the game was up and the danger was known. With everything progressing smoothly it just implied that the hidden agenda was still covert.

"I've read your dissertation on improving the technology currently used in engines," the woman said, after the tedious part of introducing oneself and complementing was over, and it had almost seemed like they would have nothing to talk about.

His first thought was to wonder why she would do that, before reminding himself that the paper had actually been published and there was absolutely nothing suspicious in reading the writings of a man you were going to be betrothed to.

"You've made some interesting points," she continued her voice faltering slightly. "Have you considered that changing the contents of the fuel might also be beneficial?"

He looked at her, taken aback. Nobody had gone as far as correcting him. He suspected that they were afraid of insulting him and therefore avoided mentioning anything that would upset him. What did she want to achieve by that?


	7. Fields of Asphodel II

{oOo}

Sulpice Grulgor blinked. While she personally had nothing against being saved from certain death, she always assumed heroes accepted congratulations without little girls poking over their shoulder. Admittedly, she had firmly believed heroes were supposed to be dashing blondes with blue eyes and the saviour of her village was bald with pale brown eyes, so perhaps little girls were not out of question either.

The girl looked at her from over the man's shoulder, before hiding behind him. A moment later, she peered out carefully and smiled shyly.

"…and a quarter of the able-bodied men and women," the hero continued addressing the village elders.

"Grulgor can help," Mother Kalia said, somehow managing to prod Sulpice with her cane despite standing before the young woman and being blinder than a bat. "She set up those traps."

She stumbled forward and looked up. Instead of a biting retort that would prove her wit she barely managed to stutter out something about her father, who had died just yesterday. Looking up had been a mistake: the girl had such deep eyes. So sad. So wise. Their hero might have looked tired, but his gaze held a similar strength to the girl's.

Concentrating with both of them looking at her was impossible.

"You'll have to forgive her," Mother Kalia said, placing a claw-like hand on Sulpice's shoulder. "She lost her father just recently. She's distraught."

"I'm fine!" she protested.

Later on, she cited this moment as the proof that saying things like "I'm fine" or "It's okay" is asking for something to happen. In her case, she tried to prove this by shrugging of the old woman's hand and stepping forward. She lost her balance and banged her head against the lower part of the man's chest and effectively knocked herself out.

{oOo}

"What… did just happen?" Mortarion asked, staring at the young woman at his feet.

She must have hit her head very hard, but he hadn't felt much. To be honest, he hadn't even thought it was possible to knock yourself out by hitting somebody's ribs. Dreamily, he patted the spot the girl hit.

"You should kiss her forehead so it doesn't hurt," his adoptive little sister whispered from her spot on his back.

That was going to be one of those days, wasn't it?

{oOo}


	8. Gate of the Forest I

{oOo}

"You have a sister?" the Lion asked.

Luther nodded. "You're more of a sibling to me, now. I hadn't seen her since we were children."

"But you want us to meet each other?" the Lion guessed.

Luther nodded. He knew so little about Alta. She must have changed a lot since childhood. He would not admit it, but he wanted the Lion with him so that he wouldn't have to speak to her alone. It had been so long since he'd seen her; he would have no idea what to talk about with her. At least with the Lion around he hoped she'd be distracted enough not to notice any awkwardness on his part.

"Well, I suppose I'd like to meet her too," Jonson said thoughtfully. "Since you're like my older brother…"

{oOo}

Alta was not very much like Luther. She did, however, seem to approve of the Lion. Then again, anyone who heard of his exploits would have, so it was nothing out of ordinary. What was out of ordinary was Jonson's behaviour.

Admittedly, the Lion's social skills seemed to fluctuate between good and abysmal, and he did get noticeably worse with people when he did not know said people, but he had never gone as far as to stare at somebody's head like it was some sort of puzzle.

"Say something," Luther mumbled, nudging his friend with his elbow.

"Her hair is green," the Lion responded. Apparently, his people skills were at the low point of their daily curve, since he said it loudly enough for Alta to hear.

"Indeed?" she asked, rising her eyebrows in mock-surprise. She took a strand and observed it for a moment. "Why, it is!"

The Lion flushed, half-embarrassed, half-angry at the mockery. Luther wondered how in the world did things manage to get out of control so quickly, before realizing something else that had slipped his attention.

People normally did not mock the Lion. In fact, most people spent at least a while simply gathering their wits, when introduced to Jonson. This had not been a case with Alta.

"Your hair is kind of reddish," he pointed out somewhat belatedly, holding his hands out in a placatory manner. "And I'm sure you don't like when people start pointing out how it's so rare."

The "you should apologize" was only implied, but nevertheless there. Both Alta and the Lion looked at him oddly, before his sister sighed and patted Luther's arm.

"You need children," she said.

Luther started feeling betrayed when the Lion nodded.

{oOo}

Archivists Notes: Another round of 'Let's Guess the Senshi', a little less obvious this time, however.


	9. Family I

{oOo}

Cousin Azmina was insane. Rogal Dorn had arrived to this conclusion upon their first meeting. It wasn't that he disliked her, but she was too loud. Besides, did she have to insist on rambling about her "first love?

To be honest, he didn't begrudge that part anymore, having grown up and now possessing some understanding of how teenage girls work. What was more, she was also only distantly related to him. (Well, to be accurate, she was completely unrelated to him, since he wasn't really born in clan Dorn, but this was entirely beside the point.)

It all meant he did not have to see her very often and therefore did not have to deal with her particular brand of crazy. Still, there were such things as family meetings and so, Azmina was present.

Surprisingly, she behaved quite appropriately and Rogal Dorn considered the possibility that her conduct was something she had grown out of. Just as he arrived to this conclusion, cousin Azmina decided to hug him. It was an awkward moment, given just how big Rogal was.

"Er…" she said, stepping back and rubbing her nose. "Do you wear armor under your clothes?"

"Is this really an appropriate thing to ask in the public?" Rogal asked.

Azmina blinked, staring at his serious face. His lips twitched slightly into a faint smile, which was just enough of a hint that he was not being serious.

"Please take a seat, cousin," he added.

To his credit, he did not ask her to choose one far away from him. Then, to his surprise, he realized he didn't really want her to sit far away. She was odd, but likeable.

{oOo}

Azmina Dorn had nothing against the grandson of the patriarch of her clan. However, this should not have somehow translated into being roped into baby-sitting him. The boy was a few months right? It was going to be boring!

Once she entered the boy's room, she discovered that Rogal did not look a few months old. He looked six and very, very serious. He looked up at her from what appeared to be a book, his brow creased in a frown. If this wasn't enough, his hair was all messy.

It was therefore quite understandable that Azmina reacted the way she did. Being a teenage girl and one not opposed to showing her feelings, she embraced the boy with a loud squeal of delight. "You're so cute!"

And big, she mused as Rogal squirmed out of her embrace with an offended expression.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"I'm you're big cousin Azmina," she replied, reaching out to muse his hair. The boy ducked out of her reach and placed himself strategically behind a chair. Naturally, Azmina followed him, trying to catch the child.

{oOo}


	10. Swift Across the Plains I

{oOo}

Everyone heard of Jagathai Khan. He was a mighty warrior and a leader of great skill and cunning. No one doubted he would rise to greatness, especially since he was already doing amazing things. Nevertheless, a tribe could not simply pledge itself to another tribe without any ceremony. Hence why the elders devised a simple contest of skill that would determine if Jagathai was truly worthy of leading their people.

Esin was the chosen representative of her tribe. She was their best horseman and would match her skills as rider against the new Khan. It all worked very fine in theory, but when put into practice the whole idea collapsed.

Jagathai Khan stood next to Esin on her horse, towering over them both. His expression was that of displeasure as he regarded the elders.

"And none of you even thought about checking if I'm really that big?" he asked, his tone sour.

Esin had to restrain herself from snickering, as she imagined the giant on a horse. It helped that the Khan shot her a suspicious glance that for some reason lingered on her chest. Did he know? She had never been particularly well-endowed and binding herself was more of a formality than necessity. He couldn't have guessed, if most of her childhood friends were convinced she was man…

{oOo}

"It's beautiful," Esin breathed precisely when Jagathai Khan uttered the same sentiment. The Emperor of Mankind raised one of his glorious eyebrows as the two gushed. Princess Serenity appeared mildly amused.

The object of their admiration was a simple bike, designed to carry a Space Marine. It was somewhat bulky and the Princess had expressed preference for the more elegant design of the jetbikes used by the Custodes. Obviously, it was not the aesthetical values of the machine that had enraptured the two.

"Can I test it?" Jagathai asked, his tone slightly reminiscent of a child asking for sweet.

Esin looked somewhat disappointed, most likely having arrived to the conclusion that the bike was too big for her to ride it. Serenity looked up at her father, her expression thoughtful.

"Don't you think my honour guard should have a scout, Father?" she asked innocently.

The Emperor of Mankind looked at his daughter and the newest addition to her honour guard, both looking at him hopefully.

"I suppose we can consider it a belated birthday gift?" he said finally. At least she wasn't asking to set up a huge bonfire in the Imperial Palace…

{oOo}


	11. Perfect Ripples I

{oOo}

There was always something that had to be fixed. It was inevitable: the refineries were incredibly ancient and it was a miracle that they still worked. The other systems were just as bad. As far as Fulgrim knew, he was the only person who did not, metaphorically, curl up in a small ball with their fingers in their ears and sing "la-la-la, can't hear you" at the mention of what they would do once the aged mechanisms finally refused to work for good. It still was enough to give him a headache.

As it was, he was quite certain that the valve he was examining had reached the point where it needed to be replaced right now. Where would he find a replacement? He stared at the rusty piece of metal, trying to remember if he'd seen anything that could work. The only thing keeping him from banging his head against the pipes in frustration was the memory of the dent his head left in the wall, once he accidentally bumped into it.

"Shouldn't you get some rest?" a female voice he did not recognize sounded behind his back.

"Gah!" he whirled around, dropping the spanner he'd been holding in the process. How did she get so close to him without him hearing that? Barely anybody managed to sneak up on him. Then he noticed the green hair and quite forgot about the spanner and his own surprise. It was a very pleasant colour, but decidedly unusual.

"Sorry," the woman said. "Does it hurt very much?"

It took him a moment to even register that the spanner fell on his foot. By all rights, it should hurt a lot, but he hadn't even noticed. When he was younger it had worried him, but he realized quite quickly the lack of pain had no sinister reasons. He simply did not get hurt easily.

"No," he reassured the woman. "I hadn't seen you around?"

"I didn't use to work here," she replied. "My name is Amphithoe."

"Fulgrim," he replied. What followed was a moment of mutual embarrassment, as Fulgrim's hands were covered in rust and Amphitoe was all dusty.

It seemed that little break helped to clear his head, because he suddenly thought of several options to fix the valve problem. Amphithoe, it seemed, had indirectly helped him and for that he favoured her with a smile.

It was only after a few days that he figured out why he felt as if he did something wrong, despite the fact that she had smiled back. She didn't appear to be completely dumbstruck by his presence as most people were. Knowledge did not prove to be soothing. On the one hand, it was genuinely nice to have somebody talk to him like a normal person. On the other, it was an oddity and he was so curious why she was different.

{oOo}

Archivists Notes: And here is the last of the first meetings, but not the last of the Senshi and the Primarchs (Seriously? How do you pluralize that?) from before being found by the Emperor and Serenity.


	12. Visions in Red II

{oOo}

Ira was not as obsessive a reader as Magnus. She enjoyed some works, but there were limits to what she considered healthy. Magnus thought reading three books in one day and then three more books during the night was perfectly fine and claimed it was a leisurely tempo, anyway. Once Ira had heard that she nearly attempted dragging Magnus out by his ear. Unfortunately, she couldn't reach his ear.

"Really, I don't see why you're so annoyed," Magnus said trying to grab another book without drawing her attention.

"I am not annoyed," Ira replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "Merely disappointed that despite your intellect you spend so much time simply filling your head with things other people have already invented long ago."

"Excuse me?" Magnus asked, frowning. He looked quite menacing when angry, but that did not appear to affect Ira.

"You could try finding out if one of your precious books is actually right," Ira continued.

Magnus eyed her, his expression still thunderous. "And you happen to know just what I should test?"

"Why should I?" Ira asked shrugging. For a moment, Magnus wondered if she was aware how interesting the gesture was when she did it. "I'm only worried you'll start getting moldy."

He sighed, giving in. The books wouldn't run away. He would be able to come back and read them tomorrow. "How about we go and eat…" he looked at the clock on the wall, "…uh… lunch?"

{oOo}

Lorgar stared. The Imperial Palace housed many an odd chamber, but finding out there was one with a bonfire in the middle was almost a surreal experience. There was a woman in front of it. Just as Lorgar intended to edge out, she rose gracefully and turned to face him.

"The galaxy will burn around you," she said, before walking past him.

He didn't even try to stop her, as he tried to grasp the meaning of her words. Was it a warning? It sounded like one, but it was so very vague. Nevertheless, Lorgar attempted to gauge their meaning.

"The galaxy" was obvious; it was the burning that worried him. The first thing that came to his mind was that stars would explode, but he dismissed the idea fairly quickly. He would die if that happened. Fire was a common metaphor for war, though.

It seemed more plausible, given that he had been given command of a Space Marine Legion recently. He would see many wars as their Primarch.

He smiled to himself, deciding he knew the meaning. Clearly, the woman had given a divine message to him. He would take part in many wars.

The galaxy would burn.

{oOo}

AN: Oh Lorgar, you poor sod...


	13. Meeting Angron

{oOo}

Angron glared at the slender figure in front of him. Her words did not please him. His sister she might have been, but her suggestion that he leave his fight unfinished galled him to the core. How dare she make light of his struggle? Even if he were to die, he had to make his captors pay!

A tiny voice in the back of his skull pointed out that if he'd listen to her, he could simply come back later with a real army and get his vengeance, but he squashed it angrily. With a roar he charged at the woman.

To his shock, she dodged his attack. Then she punched him. Normally, he would have shrugged such a hit off as it were nothing. But somehow this time it didn't happen. Instead, he staggered back, noticing that he had trouble with breathing now. He looked down, to notice a large dent in his armor.

"Please, will you listen now, brother?" she asked.

"I would," somebody behind his back whispered. "She hugged me."

For some incomprehensible reason the last part of the statement brought a wave of unadulterated terror into Angron's soul.

{oOo}

AN: Bloody Mary's continuation of drakensis' short "First Impressions" that will also be up shortly, and poor Angron he certainly did not expect his sister to be able kick ass, _and_ for one of his sneakier brothers to be lurking in wings.


	14. Omake Thing

{oOo}

The ork that had been charging at Venus from behind and slightly off to the side, unexpectedly exploded into a rain of charred orky-bits.

Venus turned to her taller sister with a resigned look, "Can't you chose a less... messy weapon, Thora?"

Said taller sister raised a coppery eyebrow, "If it works, it works, besides," she petted her thunderhammer affectionately, "she is a beauty, you have to admit."

{oOo}

"You could simply cut your hair, Cousin," Rogal Dorn suggested, when Venus paused in her rant on how she had xeno in her hair and how Thora was too manly. He reconsidered his statement, when Azmina glared at him and said: "Or perhaps use a bolter?"

{oOo}

AN: Because inspiration is a strange and fickle thing, as Bloody Mary has observed after I posted up the first part.


	15. Castles in the Fog II

{oOo}

Tekhne raised her blue eyebrows as she watched Perturabo. Perturabo looked back at her, but did not budge. He was sitting on the floor, still fully dressed and appeared to intend to spend the whole night like this.

Tekhne had secretly read three or four romance novels, one of which involved arranged marriage and she was quite certain it was the woman, who was supposed to be rebellious. Still, she did not suppose Perturabo read such books and probably was not aware that he was enacting a literary cliché…

"You don't need to be so obvious about your displeasure," she said.

"What displeasure?" he asked, frowning at her.

She would have assumed he was being difficult just for the sake of spiting her, but he didn't sound like he was. If she were to try and place him somewhere, he'd say he sounded cautious, like he expected her to turn into something nasty as soon as he let his guard down.

Maybe she was being presumptuous? After all, Perturabo's behaviour did not have to have anything to do with her. While on the surface, it seemed like the most logical conclusion, it was also quite selfish and conceited, she decided. Maybe he just didn't like sleeping in a bed?

{oOo}

Perturabo's first week after getting married was by far the most confusing week of his life. Tekhne was apparently as smart as he was and capable of discussing the most complicated problems with him. Only yesterday, they spent several hours simply talking about the influence of radiation on the production of plastic.

However, that had not been the most confusing part. This title went to sleeping in the same room. Perturabo considered the idea preposterous. It was like asking to get stabbed in one's back. Tekhne, as far as he could tell, had no such qualms.

It had occurred to him that she was perhaps playing innocent to make him drop his guard. After considering the idea he came to the only logical conclusion. He had to check, if she wasn't hiding anything from him.

So, yesterday, after the discussion, he checked. Thoroughly. It turned out to be very interesting.

His lips twitched into the unfamiliar expression of a smile. It seemed that he would have to "check" today too.

{oOo}


	16. The Wolf and the Rose II

{oOo}

Leman Russ looked rather offended and actually managed to retain some dignity while dripping wet. His red hair plastered to his face, most of his face was hidden, until he peeled it away, pushing it behind his ears.

"I do not have a hangover," he stated firmly.

Thora placed the bucket on the floor and arched her eyebrow. She did not appear to be at all convinced.

"Oh? And how much did you drink yesterday?" she asked.

"I don't have hangovers," Leman Russ replied.

Thora still didn't look convinced, so Leman Russ decided that she needed more convincing arguments to believe him. He grabbed her hand and headed through the hall at brisk pace. Thora yelped indignantly and hit him over the elbow, before catching up.

"Slow down!" she snapped.

By then they were actually outside and Leman simply stopped. Thora glared at him, which put a bit of a damper on his mood. That and his hair was starting to get abysmally cold.

"See? I can stand in bright light and don't have a headache," he stated, though the declaration was not as triumphant as it was meant to be. His shoulders were starting to grow cold and he having the distinct impression he had icicles in his hair.

This time, it was Thora's turn to drag him. Well, it was more that she tugged on his arm and he didn't resist.

A few minutes later, he decided that while he was getting warm soup out of the deal it was not worth it. Getting icicles out of one's hair was not fun.

{oOo}

AN: Lucky you have a hardy constitution there, old boy, or you would have gotten a pretty bad cold...


	17. Contrast

{oOo}

Fulgrim had dealt with many a critical situation. From repairing industrial equipment that nobody else dared to touch to throwing an ork Warboss at a gargant, there was almost nothing he was afraid of. Still, he felt somewhat intimidated at the prospect of providing advice to his sister.

Maybe if he had known her before, he wouldn't worry, but she was attending various other matters at the time of Fulgrim's discovery and so he had no chance to learn anything about her personally. Horus had nothing but praise for her and had she been not his sister, Fulgrim would have suspected something on his part.

"I think pink will be too juvenile," he said, starting to toy with a strand of his hair. "You should stick with white and gold."

Serenity sighed. "I like pink."

That was not exactly an easily deflected argument, but Fulgrim was not going to give up. He held up a golden brooch. "The contrast between the jewelry and the dress will be all wrong."

Serenity took one of the pieces of fabric she had brought for evaluation and held it up against the brooch. For a moment, she regarded it speculatively, before putting the fabric down and taking another, white piece. She repeated the whole process again, before sighing again. "I guess you're right."

Fulgrim breathed out, relieved that his comments had been accepted.

"Would you mind discussing the design?" Serenity asked cheerily.

The Phoenician blinked and considered the question. While he did have other duties, he still didn't know Serenity very well and it was a good occasion to get acquainted with her. Furthermore, once he stopped worrying that his advice would upset the Princess, he found he was enjoying himself.

{oOo}

AN: In which Fulgrim is in his element, and gets to know his elder sister.


	18. Imperial Literature I

{oOo}

Imperial literature has many facets. Starting with such wonderfully helpful works like The Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer that help out brave boys fight to protect the citizens of the Imperium to works that focus on providing much needed entertainment to the common man and woman, there is no shortage of reading material.

One of the interesting genres that nevertheless tends to spawn a lot of controversy even today is historical romance. While writers have drawn inspiration for their writings from history even long before humanity has left Terra, there have been those that decry such fiction as disrespectful, citing its failings in presenting the complex personalities of its heroes.

One of the most often cited examples is the union of Senshi Mercury and Primarch Perturabo. Their most common depiction in fiction is often criticized by Iron Warriors as entirely incorrect and both involved parties have been known to comment on their portrayal in fiction.

Nevertheless, the literary canon for their relationship prevails with the general public embracing the portrayal of Perturabo as withdrawn and emotionally damaged before his marriage to Tekhne. Similarly, most readers appear to wholly accept Senshi Mercury as the more decisive partner. Ultimately, it seems that most writers see their relationship as a tale of overcoming the odds and a demonstration of the power of love.

This tendency seems to have started as early as the 30th millennium with the publication of "The Siege of Olympia" (1). The writer, Steffania Moer (2), had penned a compelling picture of the struggle of two lovers, who need to overcome the hurdles thrown at them by their families and their own weakness. Another theme that is present in this work is that of sexual abstinence, which Moer has presented as both desirable and as attractive as fulfilling carnal desires.

The success of the book had prompted Senshi Mercury and Primarch Perturabo to publically decry the novel as nothing but fiction. Unfortunately, their denial was seen by a significant portion of the novel's intended audience as a sign of shyness and thusly this view on their relationship has been firmly cemented in the Imperial psyche.

{oOo}

(1) Those interested in learning more about the novel should look no further than Isabeth Monje's "Forbidden Love: Siege of Olympia Explained". While the author's style is on the flowery side, it nevertheless provides much needed context for Moer's writing as well explains its plot and subtext sufficiently well for those that wish to avoid reading the book itself.

(2) I hasten to add that all rumors of the Iron Warriors involvement in Moer's untimely and unfortunate end are nothing but rumors, as there has been no evidence that the First Chaplain of the Iron Warriors had her blood on his crozious after Moer's brutalized body had been discovered. For Further reading, I recommend perusing Horatio Grissom's "Scelere, Poena et Literature Vol. V", which discusses the case in detail.

{oOo}

AN: And here is the first of several treatises of literature in the Imperium.


	19. Imperial Literature II

{oOo}

Another source of historical inspiration, if less beloved by adolescent girls, is the romance between Ira the Flame and Magnus the Red. The most common readers of books about them are a certain type of adolescent boys: the bookish and studious kind. This perhaps can account for the inaccuracies in their common portrayal.

While the Primarch of the Thousand Sons is indeed known for his temperament, Senshi Mars, on the other hand, is known as one of the most composed Anima. However, it seems that most novels will portray her as a typical rebellious heroine, who slaps the hero two times for the one time she kisses him.

A significant portion of the detractors of this romance cite Ira's and Magnus' skills in precognition and claim that it is entirely unlikely that their relationship generated so much conflict between them. While there is a certain grain of truth, we must remember that their documented visions have been all related to happenings more important than a lover's spat.

As with Perturabo and Tekhne, the book that codified the portrayal of their relationship was written as early as in the 30th millennium. It is the well-known "Crimson Passion" (1) by Quinne Boon. Again, it has presented the relationship between Senshi and Primarch as a struggle; this time it was the clash of two strong personalities, where neither would yield to the other.

Neither Magnus the Red, nor Ira the Flame had been documented to have made any statements about this book or its subsequent imitators. While, for many readers, it has cemented Senshi Mars as a fiery heroine and Magnus as an equally temperamental man, it did, nevertheless, prevent the book from gaining the notoriety of "The Siege of Olympia".

On the other hand, while discussing Senshi Mars and Primarch Magnus one cannot forget the "Maiden of Flames" (2) which is considered one of the most beautiful examples of Imperial love literature. It is also the source of the "love as element" theme, present in many other similar works.

{oOo}

(1) For more information, consult "A Romance on Prospero" by Isabeth Monje. Again, Monje provides context and an in-depth summary of the book.

(2) The best to date analysis has been provided in the essay of the same title written by Primarch Fulgrim.

{oOo}


	20. Imperial Literature III

{oOo}

Leman Russ and Thora Russ are often portrayed similarly to Magnus the Red and Ira the Flame, as ironic as it may seem to a keen student of history. However, novels about them are usually aimed at adolescent females, a fact that the Space Wolves and their Primarch seem to find both endlessly confusing and amusing at the sight time.

The first work describing their romance is the "The Wolf and the Flower" (1); an allegorical poem composed by Bragi of the Russ. While it follows the tradition of presenting women as connected to blossom, the flower representing Senshi Jupiter is of a particularly tough Fenrisian breed. It also comes to a stunning conclusion, which nevertheless is a fairly accurate description of this particular relationship. It loses some of its impact in translation, but it remains a rather interesting insight: "Ice will not threaten that which is united."

It is a pity that "The Wolf and the Flower" is not as well known as the famous "Taming of the Wolf" (2) by Lauryl Helm (3), as it might have improved the quality of most other books describing the couple. Like the previous examples it was written during the Great Crusade and had been quite popular until "The Siege of Olympia" had been published. The book itself had been quite polarizing, having accentuated the wolf-like nature of Russ to a much greater extent then it was perhaps suggested by his actions and behaviour in life.

While the depiction of Russ as animalistic and possessive is still common in literature, it has been slowly replaced by a depiction closer to that of Magnus the Red in "Crimson Passion". This can be credited to Janna Korenz and her "The Space Wolf's Saga" (4). Interestingly, it is a re-imaging of the "Taming of the Wolf", but given Korenz' greater insight and the ability to do research it is not surprising that she does a much better job of it then Helm did.

Unfortunately, the imitators of Korenz tend merely mimic the basic archetype, often exaggerating the qualities of both Senshi Jupiter and Primarch Russ, leading to them becoming the stereotypical fiery heroine and a wild, but good at heart man respectively.

{oOo}

(1) A more in-depth analysis may be found in "Poetry of Fenris" by Brother Einarr the Odd of the Space Wolves.

(2) Those interested in learning more are advised to read Isabeth Monje's "Winter of the Heart", as the good madam Monje proves to be one of the few people capable of providing an impartial summary of the book and provides all the necessary context.

(3) Again, any accusations of the Space Wolves' involvement in Helm's early retirement are entirely baseless and the fact that she never appeared publically again, does not prove she has been killed.

(4) For further reading I suggest perusing Janna Korenz' "On Writing", where she describes the process that lead to her writing the book.

{oOo}


	21. Imperial Literature IV

{oOo}

Amphithoe and Esin have proven to inspire a staggering amount of works describing their relationship. Unlike the previously described couples, their depictions fall in two categories: forbidden lovers, who overcame the odds and books focusing on the carnal aspects of their relationship.

The first category has the most well-known representative in Anja Perlex' "Wind in the Seas" (1), which describes their struggle against a harsh society, while ignoring entirely the fact that Uranus' and Neptune's relationship was rarely, if ever, viewed negatively by most Imperial denizens. It has also managed the amazing feat of not mentioning any other Primarch or Senshi during the whole book, which covers a good portion of the Great Crusade, which is an achievement in itself.

Most writers of similar works tend to produce books that focus on suffering and social injustice, which sadly has nothing to do with the reality.

The second category, while decidedly focusing on the more positive aspects of human life, provides as many examples of poor writing as the first. One of the favourites in this group is Brenn France's "The Sight Most Precious" (2), which shies from describing the actual act, but depicts the first meeting of the two Senshi in a highly erotic manner.

Both Senshi had repeatedly decried both depictions as false and Neptune had once gone as far as asking Primarch Fulgrim to write a critical monograph on the topic.

Currently, their relationship has been appropriated by the Adepta Sororita, who focus on their love as a metaphor of the adoration of the most holy human form. "The Lady's Favour" (3), an anonymous work first published in collection of devotional poetry published by the Order of the Martyred Lady, is one of the best known examples of this tendency.

Neither Senshi Neptune, nor Primarch Fulgrim have made any statements regarding the works of the Adepta Sororita.

{oOo}

(1) Those wishing to learn more are advised to peruse Rogal Dorn's review of said book. Most Imperial critics struggle to emulate the scathing honesty that makes this piece of writing so compelling.

(2) Those interested may read the vignette, as it is usually to be found in France's collected works. However, consultation with the Ecclesiarchy upon having finished is recommended.

(3) "On the Holiness and Pureness of Man". Edited by Cannoness Sylvia. M38. Ophelian Press

{oOo}


	22. Imperial Literature V

{oOo}

Intriguingly enough, despite no signs pointing towards there being any mutual, or even one-sided, attraction between Senshi Pluto and Primarch Jonson, there are multiple works depicting their alleged romance. Given the scarcity of recorded accounts of their youth on Caliban and their withdrawn natures, it is perhaps not entirely odd that they are considered to have had been in a relationship by some.

Interestingly enough, unlike others previously mentioned, Alta and the Lion are usually portrayed as a couple in works aimed at middle-aged women. The first depiction of them of that kind was hard to trace, though we may assume it had originated either during the Great Crusade or the Age of Chaos.

However, the novel recognized as the codifier was written as late as M35. I am, of course, talking about the infamous "Lion of the Forest" (1) by Dorothea Robers. The book is notorious for propagating several heinous misconceptions about the Primarch's early life, starting with the fact that Luther and Alta appeared to have been merged in one character (2).

Commonly such tales depict the Lion and Alta surprisingly similarly to Tekhne and Perturabo, with Jonson only finding his humanity through love towards Alta. They are also notorious for lurid descriptions of sexual acts and often plagued by lack of research, particularly concerning the safety of engaging in intercourse outside on Death World.

{oOo}

(1) Again, Isabeth Monje provides a deeper, if such a word may be applied here, look at the work, in her monograph "Caliban that Never Was".

(2) It is not advisable to mention any of this in the presence of any Marine of the Dark Angels. It is a well-known fact that then-Scout Ishmael had challenged the author to ceremonial combat and had refused to take no as an answer.

{oOo}


	23. Imperial Literature VI

{oOo}

The First Primarch and the Imperial Princess themselves are perhaps the most beloved couple of both the readers and the writers, as their relationship has lead to the creation of many a novel. While earlier works tend towards a relationship between siblings and later present Horus as Serenity's knight, romance has started appearing at the end of the Great Crusade. While indeed tasteless in the light of the tragic end of Captain Endymion, it cannot be denied that there were certain indications of a mutual attraction between Primarch Horus and the Princess, though they have not acknowledged them until the Age of Chaos had ended.

"The Gentle Moon Maiden" (1) by an anonymous author, written in M32, is a surprisingly romantic poem that has introduced the ever popular comparison of the Princess to a pearl. While there had been voices, claiming that the Princess is presented as too gentle, it remains, along with "The Maiden of Fire", a classic.

On the other end of the scale, with have the unfortunate novel "Reaching towards Serenity" is an example of inexplicable popularity of inaccurate writing. If "The Gentle Moon Maiden" is accused of presenting the Princess as too gentle, in this novel she is presented as the typical weepy heroine, who does nothing but pine for the love of Horus. It is also, up to date, the only book that had actually offended the Princess, having portrayed Endymion as abusive. (2)

Again, the Adepta Sororita seem to have their own niche, usually describing the relationship between Horus and Serenity as an act of devotion towards the Emperor. Their writings tend toward heavy stylization with Serenity becoming an allegory of the Emperor's light and glory, while Horus represents His martial side.

{oOo}

(1) The poem and in-depth comments can be found in "Imperial Poetry Vol. XXXVIII" by Cynewulf the Venerable.

(2) I do not advise researching her or the Warmaster's reaction. While their relationship when Endymion was alive had been far from cordial, Primarch Horus appears to hold his tragically demised rival in high respect, nevertheless.

{oOo}


	24. Entertainment of the Imperium I

{oOo}

Astartes: Saga of the Angry One exploded onto Terra's popular media some thirty years after the recovery of the Primarch Angron, aimed at the 15-18 year old audiences (although it proved highly popular with all ages). An independent production that successfully avoided any critical approval, it nonetheless proved financially successful and ran for five seasons. After the first season, rights for retransmission were obtained by the Word Bearers Legion who exported it well beyond the Solar Segmentum and introduced it to the rest of the Imperium in partnership with the Iron Warriors Legion. Tragically the entire production staff were killed by a terrorist attack early in pre-production of season six despite the best efforts of a detachment of the Raven Guard who had rushed to protect them.

Having been re-run somewhere in the galaxy for virtually all of the existence of the Imperium (the fall of High Lord Vanire in M35 is in some degree ascribed to his unusual dislike of the show: it is believed that the show was suppressed for three whole years of his reign of terror and all known copies of episode 3.17 The Angry One Versus Htogrok of Airabrab, AGAIN! are tragically believed to have been destroyed on his orders. The outcry from all right thinking Imperial citizens was titanic.) A:SotAO is undoubtedly the most successful video animation of known history.

Principal characters of the show include, of course, the eponymous Angry One (a thinly disguised Primarch Angron) who is accompanied on his voyages across the Galaxy by his faithful aide Walkuf and of course his loyal and (exageratedly) violent legion of Angry Astartes. Given that all Angry Astartes are always portrayed in full World Eater livery, the disguise is very thin indeed and it was swiftly understood that Walkuf is representative of Captain Kharn of the World Eater's Eighth Company. (Captain Kharn was not only a generous contributor of anecdotes that episodes could be based upon but also provided the Angry One's distinctive voice).

The show's premise is simple: The Angry One, son of the distant (and virtually never seen in the show) Imperator, is possessed by great and terrible rages that endanger everyone around him. However his sister, Tranquility introduces him to Walkuf and suggests that he use his rage for the benefit of all others by subjecting the enemies of the Empire to his righteous wrath. Conveniently for the plot, the Battle Barge Wrath of the Angry Fury (an icon of the show, despite being destroyed fourteen times in the show's 110 episodes) had recently been completed and so the Angry One was able to obtain it, setting out on a quest to liberate lost human worlds from their oppressors and deliver them into the welcoming arms of the Empire.

The typical episode of A:SotAO would feature the Angry One discovering or being directed to a human world oppressed by a xenos species and proceeding to liberate it from said xenos in a violent and bloody fashion before receiving the grateful thanks of the planet and departing once more on his never-ending crusade. There were also occasional multi-episode arcs, one to finish the first season and two per season thereafter, which almost always involved some sinister plot from outside or inside the Empire against the Angry One, over which he would triumph in a violent and bloody fashion.

There were several recurring characters in A:SotAO besides the Angry One and Walkuf. The Angry One's sister, Tranquility, was the most common, very often to direct the Angry One against particular menaces but on two occasions when the Angry One's fury endangered himself, she was able to intervene. Two of the Angry One's brothers were also regularly encountered although the sinister Crow was always at some distance from the Angry One and was a persistent mastermind behind schemes to entrap or shame his heroic (if bloody and violent) sibling. In contrast, the Scythebearer (clearly intended to portray Mortarion) is handsome, noble and always accompanied by his ward Violet (obviously representing a young Lady Persephone Saturn) is a staunch ally and friend to the Angry One.

Besides the Crow, the Angry One's greatest foe is clearly the mighty ork warlord Htogrok of Airabrab. The two faced each other once a season, with the regularity of clockwork, but the wily Htogrok was always able to make his escape. Nonetheless, he was not without redeeming features and in the popular episode 5:09 Revenge Upon the Evil Sunz he even allies briefly with the Angry One to battle another Ork menace although the alliance was short-lived and eight episodes later they were back at each other's throats, to the delight of the fans.

{oOo}

AN: Guest piece by drakensis~


	25. Fields of Asphodel III

{oOo}

Mortarion sighed as he disposed the fashion magazines Fulgrim had provided him with. Talking with the Phoenician reminded him of addressing a wall. Fulgrim had his own ideas involving how his brothers should look and targeted Mortarion with distressing frequency.

"You could just try wearing one of those things," Persephone suggested, as she fiddled with a particularly ornamental lamp. She had an inexplicable fondness for the things and insisted Mortarion's flagship house a part of her collection.

On his part, Mortarion did not oppose to that. They did remind him of his little sister, so he supposed he liked them, even if some of them were really impractical.

"I don't like them," he said, looking down at himself.

No, he had no idea what was wrong with his clothes. They were clean and did not appear rumbled, so what was all the fuss about? He liked grey.

"He might leave you alone if you do," Persephone replied, stepping away from her latest purchase and admiring its effect on the lighting of the room.

"Or he'll realize I look like I'm in the final stages of some deathly illness and decide to experiment?" Mortarion answered, shaking his head.

Persephone looked at him thoughtfully before nodding. The Phoenician was nice, but when it came to aesthetics he could be horrible, horrible nag. Seeing no resolution towards the problem, she pulled Mortarion's sleeve and pointed at the newest lamp.

"Do you like it?" she asked, looking up at him.

Mortarion gave it a thoughtful look before saying: "It's going to break if I trip it," then, in a lower voice, he added. "It's nice."

{oOo}


	26. Of Wings and Pretty Things

{oOo}

Sanguinius had been standing through the whole conversation with Azmina, something that had puzzled her to no end. While she was aware that the Primarchs didn't get tired with standing a long time, most of them still preferred to act like normal people and sit down, especially if the other party was already seated. If anything, it helped a lot when it came to neck-pains. In the end Azmina got up, deciding that slightly sore legs were preferable to dislocating her spine.

"I'd rather not sing," the Angel stated, a slight frown creasing his usually serene features.

"Why not?" she asked, wondering if climbing on a chair would be too undignified. Cousin Rogal had been very firm she should not attempt it when having a conversation with him. Why wasn't Sanguinius sitting down?

"I don't like singing," he replied, starting to sound somewhat impatient.

Azmina was shocked by the admission. She loved singing and had hoped to become a singer, before she found out where her duty and true skills lay. Nevertheless, she enjoyed singing quite a lot and imagining some one did not came only with difficulty with her.

Nevertheless, she did not intend to be annoying and nag. "So… I heard you can work with jewels…"

The Angel raised one of his blonde eyebrows, his lips twitching into a smile. "Am I to understand that I need to bribe you, Senshi Venus?"

She gave him her best look of pure wounded innocence as she replied: "I can't really do anything if you chose to assume such a hurtful, hurtful thing…"

Just to make sure, her charm was in full swing, she pouted. The expression even managed to make Cousin Rogal stop being a nag. Well, sometimes.

Sanguinius continued to smile, as he fished something out of his robe. Azmina's eyes followed his hand, as it unfolded in front of her. The thing he held was necklace made of gold filigree, its delicate beauty underlined by the size of the hand in which it rested.

Azmina breathed out a sigh of admiration and reached out towards the necklace. Sanguinius snatched it out of her reach, smiling at her, as he dangled it over her head. He even leaned down slightly, spreading his wings for balance.

Contrary to his expectations Azmina did not play along, as her attention was firmly focused on his wings instead. Why didn't she think of it sooner? She treated them as if they were just a prop and not a bodypart. Of course he hadn't sat down!

"Your wings get in the way of chairs, right?"

{oOo}


	27. Imperial Literature VII

{oOo}

Of course, the romance of Captain Endymion and Princess Serenity has also inspired many a writer. To this day, some create works about it, usually presenting the two as star-crossed lovers torn apart by cruel fate. Novels created at the time their relationship had started are usually much more optimistic as nothing pointed towards Endymion's untimely death.

One of the few surviving depictions from the time of the Great Crusade is the famous "Serenade" (1) by Hesius Romeh: an epic poem about the Princess's life. As its creator died at the beginning of the Age of Chaos, it only chronicles her exploits to a certain point. It presents Endymion as a charming young officer, who searches for the true purpose in life. Serenity meets him at a party and winning her heart becomes his goal.

The anonymous epigram "On Love" (2) that is often ascribed to Primarch Fulgrim is another contemporary of Captain Endymion. Its short nature belies its depth as does its joking manner.

"Moonlit Romance" (3) by Rona Bobson is, unfortunately, the codifier for the post-Crusade view on this relationship. While Bobson should be lauded for remembering that the Princess was not passive, her characterization remains uneven, with Serenity becoming a distressed damsel whenever Endymion is present to save her. It also avoids presenting Primarch Horus in a negative light by ending shortly after the Captain's death in the memorable, if clichéd scene of the Princess mourning in a field of lilies.

Subsequent writings emulate the melodrama and a few daring authors have even dared to chastise Horus Lupercal for his relationship with Serenity. (4)

{oOo}

(1) Any reader interested in learning more should peruse an edition with the commentary written by Primarch Fulgrim, who provides a full background for the poem and its artistic merit.

(2) The epigram and an in-depth commentary can be found in: "Anonymous Poetry of the Great Crusade Vol. XXXV" by Martial Lucan.

(3) As with most such books, I recommend Isabeth Monje. Her monograph "The Princess and the Soldier" provides all necessary information.

(4) It need not be said that all rumors of the Luna Wolves harming the writers of those novels are utter nonsense and their presence on the scene of the incident was always an accident.

{oOo}


	28. Imperial Literature VIII

Azmina Dorn and Governor Diamand have not inflamed as many hearts as some of the previously mentioned couples, but their affair became the source of many a romantic comedy. While it may appear disrespectful and undoubtedly highly atypical, it is not entirely that hard to understand why this genre is usually used to depict this couple. Senshi Venus is known as the most easy-going of the Princess's honour guard and her courtship had been surprisingly long.

The example that needs to be mentioned is of course the famous novel "The Courtship of Venus" (1) by Freadric Nemyer. It is a light-hearted book that focuses on the many mishaps and misunderstandings that have, according to anecdote, plagued Diamand as he tried to woo Venus. One of the most memorable scenes is of course his conversation with Primarch Rogal Dorn, during which they believe they are discussing two different topics. It has also, for reasons unknown, presented Primarch Alpharius as Diamand's main adversary, despite their being no indication of him having any such feelings for Senshi Venus. (2)

Regrettably, the popularity of the "Courtship of Venus" has lead to many imitators exaggerating the amusing quirks presented in the book into something unbearable, which often leads to the creation of monsters of a romantic comedy, which are neither romantic nor funny.

On the other end of the spectrum, is the "Silver Prince and Golden Goddess" (3) by Georgiana Reya which focuses much more on drama. The courtship itself is presented as much more turbulent with Primarch Dorn even vetoing it once. Of course, the lovers are finally united in the memorable finale, which has been since emulated both in literature and holodrama.

(1) Reading it is highly recommended, as it is a truly amusing specimen of the genre.

(2) Surprisingly, Nemyer had enjoyed a long and prosperous career as a writer.

(3) For an in-depth discussion, read the version edited by Cynewulf the Venerable.


	29. Entertainment of the Imperium II

{oOo}

Oh, Hero is known to most Imperial citizens as it has remained a popular song since the Age of Chaos. Traditionally, it is played during funerals of particularly noble heroes of the Imperium.

This hymn was written during the Age of Chaos by a then little-known singer, Mimette Han. Her career had been, as far as one can tell after all those ages, neither particularly successful nor unsuccessful. She had specialized in cheery easy on the ear songs and had barely managed to get attached to a Rememberancer corps.

However, fate had still not said its last word: Han witnessed the tragic, if heroic death of Captain Endymion and had been inspired to compose and write what would become an unforgettable lament for the fallen, sung through the ages.

Oh, Hero does not name the fallen, whose death it laments and leaves little hints to Captain Endymion's end. Instead, it concentrates on the value of courage and the shortness of life. We only know what inspired Han, because she had given the manuscript and her notes to Primarch Curze shortly before her death.

Only one recording of Han performing it has reached our times. It is a partial pict of her last concert, before she had to leave the scene forever due to health issues.

The song itself is a mournful dirge best suited for young clear sopranos. The main part is played on the piano, which is joined by a viola soon after. Only after the two instruments have joined in a tearful embrace does the orchestra accompany them.

{oOo}


	30. Entertainment of the Imperium III

{oOo}

Sine Reservationes is perhaps **the** culinary show of the Imperium, despite being filmed during the Great Crusade. Anthon Borden, an ex-cook from Terra and writer of non-fictious books about the restaurateur business, had independently managed to film the first season of what would become a classic. With the success of the first season, the second one and the subsequent six have been filmed with the help of the Rift Studios of Ultramar.

Borden's style of narration, as well as his rich and juicy idiolect has earned him many a fan. His unmistakable love for food has also helped to make the show such a success. The fact that had apparently possessed the capability of stomaching food of any sort made the series all the more interesting.

Interestingly, Sine Reservationes is often credited for the preservation of the traditional cuisine of such planets like Barbarus or Nocturne, despite their oddities. Notably, Barbarus started exporting white pickles (1) after episode 2:09. The meat of Baalite giant scorpions started to gain quite a following on other worlds as result of Borden's enthusiastic praise.

Episode 3:11 is particularly beloved on Fenris, despite Borden's comment about devising new and devious way to prepare a herring being a national sport with bonus points being awarded to those cunning cooks that manage to add more disgusting ingredients then the previous ones. (2)

Unfortunately, after filming the seventh season, Borden died of heart attack. He had many imitators through the ages, as the culinary arts of the Imperium are varied and cannot be hoped to be described just by one person.

{oOo}

(1) A variety of local larvae, marinated in vinegar. It is, according to anecdote, one Primarch Mortarions favourites, along with Princess Serenity's cookies.

(2) This comment has also led to him personally meeting Senshi Jupiter and being treated to several verities of herring meals.

{oOo}


	31. The Rescue I

{oOo}

Her world had not been broken by the first words that that man had said. In her mind, he had clearly come to get rid of a rival. Had there not been rumors? But she had won Fulgrim's favour in the end and he had left the Imperium and everything else. _He_ had given _his_ soul for her to keep safe.

No, the words did not destroy her world, but they made it stop.

"You do not serve Fulgrim."

Sometimes, she could hear _his_ voice from the painting. It was so anguished and so full of pain. Oh, and the hatred. It felt like the cruelest torture that _he_ would hate her. She accepted it, nevertheless, seeing at as a test from her master.

"Lies," she hissed, but something kept her from striking at that man.

_Blind, willfully blind puppet,_ _**his**_ voice echoed in her mind.

And then that man calmly placed a small recorder on the floor. The voices were distorted, but she recognized them nonetheless.

"Silly mortal," _he_ said, _his_ voice as wonderful as ever. "Your brother is not here. I have his body, but Fulgrim… ah, he is my prisoner. His screams and anguish entertain me so."

That was when her world started falling apart.

"Release him," said the second voice. Dazed as she was, she could still tell it was the one they called the Night Haunter.

"Try saving him, if you can," _he_… no…

{oOo}

Fulgrim.

_Not_ Fulgrim.

Everything in her began to scream, slowly, terribly as the daemonette tried to put the pieces together. She'd not been very good at it in life, though she'd tried.

But... Fulgrim was not supposed to be a prisoner. He was supposed to be hers. He was supposed to _like_ her. They _promised!_

They _lied._

Filthy, filthy lies, and everyone was lying and she wanted him back and she _hated_ these people and they told her Fulgrim wasn't _her_ Fulgrim. And… And… It hurt.

And all she could feel was the pain as she clutched at her head.

Who was screaming?

It felt so very far away.

Was it her?

She clutched at the painting for reassurance, as she'd always done; trying not to scratch it or its frame, but for some reason, as the voices on the tape continued speaking, it didn't help her very much now.

{oOo}

AN: And here is the rescue of Fulgrim, collab between Djibriel and Bloody Mary


	32. The Rescue II

{oOo}

"..._He_ wasn't supposed to hurt." The words that slipped out, puzzled, bewildered, and painful; aren't something she was supposed to say. They're not something she's ever wanted to contemplate. Nevertheless, it was the truth then, and it is the truth still.

She didn't want him to hurt. _She just wanted him._

But he said Fulgrim was hurting. That Fulgrim was _his prisoner_.

"That was not our agreement." she says, faintly to Chaos, as the fragile wood splinters just a bit beneath her claws before she relaxes her grip on the frame slightly, afraid to hurt him further.

"You can save him," Ferrus Manus said.

He was not a man of words, but he did not need any grand speeches here. The recording was proof enough. Still, neither he nor Curze had expected it to have such an effect on the guardian. They meant to stun her for a moment, long enough to steal the painting and the mirror, and perhaps kill her.

"He doesn't have to suffer," he continued. "Bring the daemon that has his body here and we can right this wrong."

"No. Nonononono." the words escape in a soft keening almost-wail.

"Promised. Promised I'd protect the painting. Not supposed to let anyone have it. Can't hurt _him._ Can't act against _him._"

Sanity's difficult to maintain, particularly when returning to insanity and just believing the daemon prince's words would be so simple; but she's trying. Trying to put Fulgrim's needs first. It's hard. She's spent centuries in this shape, her own thought processes had become a very close second to what a true daemonette would feel, think or do.

Everything in her that's a daemonette screams to just kill _that man_ and _run_ but she can't. _He_ would suffer. _He's_ not supposed to suffer.

Once upon a time, she was just a girl. A foolish, foolish girl in love with a man out of her grasp.

She's in love with him still, with all the pieces of her soul that still exist. And _this_ was never what she'd bargained for.

{oOo}


	33. The Rescue III

{oOo}

For once, she suppresses the daemon-instincts within herself, those that scream for self-preservation and tries to remember anything that could help.

"_Sword._ They said if he had that sword, he'd like me..."

But the other Fulgrim didn't need to hold the sword now...

"Why is there a mirror?"

Had it been another torture tool? Had everything she'd ever done just been a great cosmic joke at her expense?

"...Promised wouldn't let the painting go...as long as I lived..."

A loophole. There was a loophole in the promises she'd made.

{oOo}

Ferrus nods.

If the mirror is here it clearly must be more important than just a memento. The daemon must want it safe. Why? He had not told the guardian.

Ferrus looks upon her. She is a pitiful creature, but she cannot live. She had said so herself.

And then he stops. There is one more thing she has mentioned. The sword. It might still be of some importance. If anything, it would be prudent to destroy it as well.

"Where is the sword?" he asks.

"_He_ has the sword." She says, not sure if it is a betrayal, or a redemption or a little bit of both. She owes him, though.

A part of her, a small part that remembers a few moments of kindness when she was still human.. wishes to say, I'm sorry. But apologies won't change what she's done. Won't change the fact she hurt _him._

Something nags at her memory, a shattered little scraplet.

"Mirrors." the words float, up little by little from memory. Old memory. Something about never being between two mirrors at the same time.

"reflections.. dangerous. _Trap._"

{oOo}

Ferrus nods and raises the Forgebreaker. In a mighty swing, he brings it down on her head.

{oOo}


	34. The Rescue IV

{oOo}

Konrad Curze closes his eyes. Serenity had helped him: his visions rarely come to him and never with the force that they used to. Still, there are moments when he wishes that he could summon them. As it is, all he can rely on is his formidable intellect. Yet… his intelligence is not infallible.

But now he and Ferrus Manus have to piece together something that makes sense from what the deamonette said.

His fingers trail the crack on Neptune's mirror. Why isn't she here? Her powers were so much better suited to that sort of thing.

"I think I know why the sword might be important," Ferrus Manus says.

Konrad looks up, watching Ferrus' craggy face. "Why?"

"That daemon was in it before, wasn't it?" Ferrus says. "It might try hiding in it again."

Konrad nods. It seems like a reasonable assumption. His eyes are drawn to the mirror, as he tries to figure out its purpose. Why did that daemon keep it with painting? Why did it not keep it with itself?

"She mentioned reflections," he says.

"And the deamon kept the mirror away from itself," Ferrus adds.

They look at each other and nod after a moment. They still have to hammer out the fine details, but the plan is already forming. Slowly, ever so slowly they are reaching their goal.

{oOo}

He had power and a body he liked very much. The sensations it felt were so very intriguing. Look at the spectrum it saw, no pun intended. He had no intention to leave it. Of course, he had made sure making him leave it was going to be very difficult. Five anchors secured the daemon to his body.

Now, one was broken. The dumb little daemonette had gone and let herself be killed, which meant three other anchors were in danger. Still, he doubted whoever it was that killed the daemonette was a danger to him. After all, he was one of Slaanesh's favoured and his anchors worked in a devious way.

Thus, he had not worried when he had been summoned.

The first hint of worry crept into its mind when it realized it had appeared on some sort of a derelict space hulk. There was a worrying lack of signs of Slaaneshi worship. Blindly fast, it lashed out, striking one of the figures at the edge of the summoning circle.

They used his true name. That was the only way those like them would manage to summon him.

Its fist connected with chest of the bigger one. Ferrus Manus—that was his name. He didn't stumble and grabbed the daemon's arm instead. Then the other figure, the one he ignored in favour of attacking Ferrus Manus, said his name.

He froze staring at the silver eyes of Ferrus Manus. This was not how it was supposed to go. Then, he found himself staring at his own reflection.

{oOo}


	35. The Rescue V

{oOo}

Ferrus Manus sat down heavily on the floor, holding his chest. He was quite certain something was broken there. Otherwise, breathing would have been easier.

"Get up," Konrad Curze hissed.

Slowly, the Primarch of the Iron Hands rose to his feet. Curze was right. He still had things to do. Unsteadily, he hobbled towards the make-shift forge. His own Marines and a small group of Serenity's Silver Knight had been tirelessly working on weakening that sword.

Ignoring the pain—it would be weakness to give up now—he brought down his hammer on the pommel jewel of the Learan blade. It broke into many pieces, scattering all over. The second hit smashed the blade. The third destroyed the handle.

Ferrus Manus let himself be lead away to the side and allowed the Iron Hand's Apothecary to examine his chest. Him getting hurt was a calculated risk he and Curze had been willing to undertake.

{oOo}

Konrad's task was, he supposed, far easier to that of Ferrus Manus. He just had to destroy the painting. As soon as he heard the first clang of the hammer, he tore through the canvas. Nothing happened.

The torn fabric hung from the frame pitifully. Konrad prepared to lash out again, when he noticed a drop fall down from the canvas. Paint? No, his nose informed him soon enough he was wrong. The canvas was rotting, melting as it crumpled and fell off the frame.

Something coiled around it. The best description Konrad could give was "purple mist".

"THE MIRROR!" he roared, kicking the putrid remains of the painting away.

There was the sound that could only be accompanying the destruction of the mirror. The mist dispersed.

Konrad Curze turned around just in time to see Fulgrim's body stir.

{oOo}

Plans were good, but unfortunately they only took you this far. Neither he, nor Ferrus Manus had really thought about the after. He supposed it was terribly naïve of them to assume it all would be fine once the deamon was out and Fulgrim was back in his original body.

Now, however, he could tell this would not be the case. Not with Fulgrim refusing to take off his armour, even the gloves and insisting he should hit him.

Why him? Konrad Curze was good with a lot of things, but trauma was something that he had no idea how to deal with. And he had to keep Fulgrim from Ferrus Manus until the latter's chest was healed. He had a feeling that finding out how badly the Primarch of the Iron Hands had gotten hurt would not help.

"I suppose we could spar?" he suggested after a moment's consideration.

That would distract Fulgrim, right?

{oOo}


	36. The Rescue VI

{oOo}

Fulgrim moved oddly. He fought with the skills he always had, of course. There had been nothing new to learn or absorb while confined to the picture.

He was stiff-over thinking how to use his body. Too conscious of himself. But that wasn't it. It was natural for him to be a bit unsteady now that he was back in his own body. Natural to leave openings if you wanted your opponent to hit you.

It was his reactions that were off. Not merely how he deliberately took falls badly, but in how his body moved when he didn't think. Certain parts of the unconscious movements weren't Fulgrim at all.

From how he constantly curled and uncurled his fingers, to a particularly deft four point recovery. The Night Haunter knocked his brother down like a man trying to skip stones across a pond. Trying to get the spin, the angle, the speed and timing right.

Early and Fulgrim fell before his body adjusted itself, late and Fulgrim forced his body out of the near instinctive fighting reaction so he would be hurt more on the impact.

Just right...Just right and Konrad was able to start building a picture of those snapshots that made Fulgrim's eyes go too wide and white all around the edges.

Sometimes the reactions that came out locked away in his brother's rubio spinal tracks weren't his brother's.

With the information he had the conclusion was obvious.

Sometimes his brother moved like a daemon. And it frightened Fulgrim.

{oOo}

Konrad's plan to keep Fulgrim away from Ferrus Manus as the latter recuperated had one significant flaw, namely it did not take the other Primarch's personality into account. Ferrus Manus was not going something as insignificant as broken bones stop him.

That and one of his men had been nice enough to tell him that that idiot Curze was sparring Fulgrim. He should not have given in to weakness and kept vigil. While his brother primarch had undoubtedly a mind suitable for planning Fulgrim's rescue, Ferrus Manus ought to have realized Curze was not suited for the task of dealing with trauma.

So, instead of lying in bed, Ferrus Manus was up. His chest didn't hurt as badly anymore, anyway. So what if he couldn't walk as fast?

He stopped in the door, watching the scene with a frown. This was not right. At all.

"That's enough," he said firmly.

{oOo}


	37. Gate of the Forest II

{oOo}

The Lion was perhaps not as surprised as Luther when Princess Serenity asked Alta to join her honour guard. As silly as it was, he blamed the green hair. Of course, one could try to be blind about it and claim it was black, but it was dark green as far as the Lion could tell. She fit in with the rest of the honour guard quite well, since one of them had blue hair.

They had been acquaintances and not friends, so he did not see any reason to protest. Luther did. He had claimed that Alta was not a warrior, but his sister—his calm, silent sister—told him it was her duty to guard the Princess and Luther shouldn't be trying to stop her.

"Is it so bad that I want her to be safe?" he had asked Jonson, once Alta had left them, her back held ramrod-straight.

"No," the Lion replied.

"Then why won't she listen?" Luther asked, rising from his chair in agitation.

Jonson's first thought was that Luther shouldn't be asking him about it. Usually, it was the Lion asking him to clarify human behaviour, not the other way around. However, then a thought occurred to him.

"Would you tell me not to fight?" he asked.

"Of course not!" Luther's protest was immediate.

"Do you want me to be safe?" the Lion persisted.

"Why are you-" Luther started to ask, before freezing. "I see. I have to… I need to think."

The Lion mentally congratulated himself. Damn, he was good. He hadn't expected convincing Luther would be that easy.

{oOo}


	38. Honour and Respect

{oOo}

There were so many ways for a member of the PDF to die. Most of them were common for civilians as well. Captain Endymion realized with wry humor that he was going to be somewhat more original than the majority of his colleagues.

The irony of his situation had not escaped him. He had followed Chaplain Erebus to the infirmary on the Vengeful Spirit. He did not know what prompted such an action from him, save for perhaps simple human dislike for the Word Bearer.

The Warmaster was still weak from the wound he received on Davin's moon, but he was recovering. Slowly, the situation was becoming less hectic. Still, why would the Word Bearer's Chaplain want to see the Warmaster during his recovery?

Now, Endymion knew. So did several other Marines—First Captain Abaddon included. Unfortunately, the First Captain seemed to have gone insane and was doing his best to stop the other Marines from getting to the Warmaster. Normally, Horus would have been able to stop Erebus even without his armor. However, currently, weakened as he was, he had no chance. Not with arms that broken, anyway.

Endymion was aware that the Warmaster was, to put it euphemistically, not very fond of him. However, he was as conscious of the fact that Horus's death would cause far too much chaos to even consider letting him die. He, somehow, barely, managed to get past Abaddon, a trick the other Marines could not manage simply because of their size. There really wasn't much he could do, but distract Erebus and, hopefully, Abaddon.

He screamed.

He charged.

Erebus was lightening fast, as he whirled around and instinctively slammed his hand against the side of Endymion's head.

Abaddon wasted a precious moment to try and stop Endymion. It was enough for one of the Marine's to get a hit with his sword.

With Abaddon no longer able to stop the others, Erebus had no choice but to carve his way out. In the moment before charging ahead, he looked down at the Warmaster and offered him a serene smile.

"You won't be able to protect anyone with those hands anymore," he said almost as if they were in the middle of a polite tea-time conversation.

Then, he fought.

{oOo}


	39. The Rescue VII

{oOo}

Two surprised stares met his gaze. Then Curze appeared to be both embarrassed and relieved. Fulgrim… Fulgrim was staring at his chest. Only then did Ferrus Manus realize he was holding his hand over the hurting area.

"Shouldn't you-," Curze started, but Ferrus didn't let him finish.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You're-…" This time Fulgrim tried to say something but Ferrus wasn't having any of that.

"I'm fine," he repeated. "How long've you been up?"

Maybe he was being too stern? Fulgrim looked like he'd been slapped and that was not what he had intended.

"Fulgrim?" he asked. "You need to rest."

"No!" That was far too violent reaction. "No."

Something was really wrong. Still. Fulgrim looked terrified at the prospect. Ferrus Manus felt rage building up inside him—not at Fulgrim, but at… well, that deamon to start with. This was not right. Still, he fought down the feeling. It wouldn't help if he'd lost his temper.

"No," Fulgrim shook his head. "You're hurt because of me, aren't you? Why? I'm to weak for you to-"

"No, you're not," Ferrus Manus said. "You're up, aren't you? You're not hiding; you're trying to do something. And you're my friend and my friends are not weak."

For a moment, just for a moment, it seemed to work. Fulgrim's shoulders sagged and some of the nervous energy seemed to dissipate. But then he looked up and focused again on Ferrus' chest.

"Why are you up?"

"That is a valid question," Konrad chimed in.

Couldn't the two focus on more important things? It was just broken bones, nothing serious. After all, he was already healing.

"I'm fi-" he started to say, but was rudely interrupted.

"No, you're not!" Fulgrim snapped. A moment later, his hand flew to his mouth, eyes wide in horror. "I'm sorry! I didn't- I'm-"

Ferrus Manus did not know how to react. This was wrong. Fulgrim shouldn't apologize for worrying about him.

"Alright," he said, raising his hands. "I'll go back to bed. You can go with me and see for yourself."

{oOo}


	40. The Rescue VIII

{oOo}

Fear. He couldn't get rid of it. It was inside him and eating away at everything else. He was afraid when fighting, because his movements were wrong. He hadn't moved like this before. Was there a bit of that thing left in his body? What if it only hid and would take over his body again? Was this why moved like that when he fought, when he wasn't careful?

He was afraid that Ferrus had been hurt worse than it appeared. What if there was something really wrong with him? And he could be hurt again. What if he died? He didn't want that. Not again.

"No, you're not!" he snapped, instantly regretting it. Ferrus had saved him and he was thanking him like that? By yelling at him? "I'm sorry! I didn't- I'm-"

Ferrus was going to hate him. He was too weak. He should have been able to break free on his own, he shouldn't be so afraid, he should be okay.

"Alright," Ferrus said and didn't sound angry at all. "I'll go back to bed. You can go with me and see for yourself."

Fulgrim nodded. Ferrus didn't hate him. It was alright. He wouldn't be bothering him long, anyway. He'd just stay long enough if he wasn't going to leave his bad again.

He didn't want Ferrus hurt.

{oOo}


	41. Of Pillows and Lamps

{oOo}

Mortarion found himself at a loss for words. Fulgrim did not act like this. It was a simple fact, something that he didn't doubt, because it was part of life, just like Corax's dislike for garrulousness or Angron's rages. The room was wrong too. Mortarion actually felt at ease there, it was so severe. Though, he found himself thinking it was lacking lamps, which reminded him of the package he was holding.

"I brought you a lamp," he said, placing the gift on the nearest flat surface.

Fulgrim stared at him blankly.

"Um…" Mortarion shrugged and added, as a sort of explanation: "Persephone still collects them and you could be surprised just how much of them we have."

Fulgrim continued staring.

"That came out wrong, didn't it?"

Fulgrim blinked and finally slowly started to smile. It was pale and nothing like what it used to be, but it wasn't so worryingly unfamiliar like the blank empty stare. "You started to collect them too."

"What? No!" Mortarion protested. "I just store them."

And then Fulgrim hugged. Well, not really hugged. It was more of a full body cling. "Can we quarrel about clothes? Please."

{oOo}

"You're going try dressing me up again," Mortarion said, his voice flat. "And I'm going to look like an idiot."

There was no answer, only Fulgrim's fist tightened its grip on his shirt. Mortarion tentatively patted the Phoenician on his back. Fulgrim didn't respond and it took a moment for Mortarion to realize it was because his brother was crying. He wasn't even making a noise.

How did you deal with that?

"Fulgrim?" he asked.

"Sorry," Fulgrim's answer was muffled and barely audible.

"Uh… I'm not telling you to let go, if you don't want to," Mortarion said. "It's just… Wouldn't you prefer hugging somebody less bony than me?"

Well, apparently that was the right thing to say, because Fulgrim started sniggering. "Stuff a pillow under your shirt."

Mortarion wasn't sure if he should be relieved or offended.

{oOo}


	42. The Swordbound Descent I

{oOo}

Fulgrim looked at the sword the woman was offering to him and knew this was a point where he needed to choose well.

_I have seen a sword of marvelous craftsmanship,_ Ira had said long ago. She had described this sword, back then. _It will be your doom._

Her predictions usually came true. Even if he had wanted to ignore her, there had been another warning, from a source which he trusted implicitly.

Amphithoe told him where the sword awaited him. Fulgrim, despite a nagging suspicion he was being over-cautious, that he should face whatever doom the two prophesied for him, had devised a different strategy for destroying the Lear. Of course, he couldn't let them live.

It took longer, so much longer to crush the xenos and yet…

A part of his Legion changed. The leader seemed to be Eidolon. Chief Apothecary Bile hovered around the edges of the coterie. They had never done anything to warrant any action from Fulgrim, but they were a constant source of worry for him.

Something was amiss.

Now, the woman, an emissary of a system that had nothing to do with the Lear, came baring the sword that ought to have been destroyed. Fulgrim felt Eidolon's eyes upon himself.

If he did not accept, then they would know he was aware of their... whatever it was. Besides, he was aware of the danger. He would get rid of the blade as soon as possible and then root out the little seed of rebellion, before it came to bloom.

Gracefully, he accepted the gift. With practiced ease, he complemented the emissary's taste, outwardly as calm and composed as ever.

{oOo}


	43. The Swordbound Descent II

{oOo}

The same day, two small ships have left the Expedition. One was to rendezvous with the Iron Hands, the other was to reach Senshi Neptune.

{oOo}

Fabius Bile liked to think of himself as a rational man, who wanted to learn the secrets of the Galaxy and improve the process of creating Astartes. He was quite sure that one day, he would learn enough about Space Marines to produce them on his own. During the campaign in the Learan space he had approached the Phoenician with a simple request. He had wanted to study the bodies of the Lear, to learn their secrets and use them to make the Emperor's Children better.

Fulgrim, unreasonably, refused. To his credit, the Phoenician seemed to at least consider the idea before refusing. Nevertheless, the Chief Apothecary was not going to forgive this transgression. He needed to learn.

Eidolon approached him with a pathetic little plot to break away from the Legion. Fabius let the blowhard bleat like the mindless sheep he was and then calmly, methodically reworked the plan into something grander.

The "Chaos Gods" Eidolon spoke of sounded… promising. He could use them.

It took him long enough to create a soporific that would knock out a Primarch for twelve hours, but his reward was going to be worth it. Fulgrim should not have denied Fabius. In his quest for perfection, he should have seen the magnificence of Fabius' vision.

The First Apothecary of the Emperor's Children looked at the sleeping form of his Primarch impassively. Perhaps, if Fulgrim had first attempted to destroy the sword, he would have avoided this fate. Instead, he chose to send warnings, as if it mattered.

Fabius Bile looked at the others gathered for the ritual with disdain. Their petty excitement was beneath him, but he would let them have their fun in the service of their perverted hermaphrodite of deity.

{oOo}


	44. The Long Road to Recovery I

{oOo}

His flesh was his own again. Sensation other than pain filled his mind again with effervescent impulses. Even the tingling of his muscles, so long not his own, were transcendent. He was a Primarch, his father's son and soon he was on his feet escaping with his brothers. It was a testament to the effort and skill his father had put into crafting his genome.

No matter what the forces of Chaos did they would never succeed in fully quenching humanity's fire. It was something intrinsic to them, to say it came from the Warp was belittling their inheritance.

It did not take a god to stand up again after being defeated, Fulgrim knew because he was no god nor was his father.

Not a god, but the various faces of Chaos called themselves gods. For the longest time Fulgrim believed that they thought of him and his family as annoyingly powerful. But mortals all the same.

This...was evidently untrue.

His body was healthy, the daemon had relished in its power; there had been no need for anything beyond the blood check still in the labs. So Fulgrim, so no one, had seen until he had disrobed alone in his quarters.

Some way in their twisted minds, Chaos, or at least Slaneesh, saw his father as something of a peer. And Chaos believed themselves gods.

His body was...desecrated. There was no other word for it, and he fell to his suddenly watery knees as everything he had pushed back threatened to break through.

Their bodies did not scar easily. Burns were the alternitive. Patterns and letters his mind flinched away from reading, all to dedicate h-the vessel to Slaneesh. H-like unholy icons used in revels of the Dark Eldar.

He slipped his hand across his abdomen where he had unbuckled his armor, the discordant whorls and spikes were almost beautiful. He knew without having to look his hands were equally scared, even the fingernail beds.

He bit his tongue to hold back laughter lest he drown in screaming. Was that part there in the different style, spelled out in plague blisters dedicated to Nurgle? Yes, must be, he thought as he rubbed the heel of his hand over that part, something about the tissue felt off, the skin not moving right.

Maybe an abscess? Or cysts? He should stop touching then. Oh, he should tell his brothers that there might be a plague for them or the marines? Yes. Close his armor and go report, no time for nightmares now.

He laughed a little at his wit, and then slapped himself reflexively. Maybe one of his brothers would hit him? As the door opened he nodded at the marine outside his door, not hearing what the other said. Yes, surely his brothers would do him that favour. Hit him until the screaming stopped.

{oOo}

Bell thoroughly rung by by his brother Manus, Fulgrim almost happily staggered back to his quarters, smiling. Still the crew kept their distance a bit. He had been about to do something about that before he went to spar but wh-

Oh, he was going to take off the chaos armor.

Well, he couldn't very well do that, could he? He lurched down another hallway, away from his room. Well, the first order of business would be to requisition a weapon and an armor kit from the quartermaster.

A short while later, and walking a bit easier Fulgrim carried his prizes into his room.

The noise was hellish as he defaced the armor with weapon blades and tool kits. It was going to take a while, even if he was quick about it since he wasn't using the acid in the kit yet.

And he had to be quick; he had to get started on himself next.

{oOo}

AN: This and the following pieces baring same title are a collab between Bloody Mary, and Djibriel.


	45. The Long Road to Recovery II

{oOo}

Pain.

Self loathing.

Despair.

Those were muted slightly by _purpose._

She could practically taste his pain in her mouth, sharp-bitter-iron.

And the vision was even worse.

He was working on his armor, almost done with it; but while that wasn't something she'd object to, he was going to strip off his skin with acid right after it was over.

She could hear him thinking it.

It was unacceptable. Someone had to stop it. She'd... she'd helped because she wanted him fixed, not buried in anguish like this!

Something had to be done, something had to give.

Pushing her 'self' through holes in the immaterium, she immediately went for the nearest strong presence that she could feel close enough to him to make a difference.

Black armor. Black hair, pale skin, stunned face. Tall. Huge. Ominously so. One of the people who were there to rescue him.

He would do. He would definitely do.

"Fulgrim." she managed to say, before the lightning-quick Primarch smashed his fist through her skull, crushing it in a single blow, and leaving her corpse to dissipate once again.

Ouch. She kept an eye open, watching the Primarch take to his heels like the world was on fire.

{oOo}

The quartermaster frowned in thought as he ended the vox call with Lord Fulgrim. The rescued Primarch had been in his armory eariler, looking like he had gone through the wringer and slightly staggering despite the fact that he had heard that the first thing that his brothers did was as soon as they were off that derelict ship was rush him to the infirmary. Still, he, at the time, thought he understood the reasons why the Primarch had wanted the armor and weapon kits, thinking that Lord Fulgrim wanted to tune up an old set of armor for use, seeing that the Chaos armor would probably be much better use as molten scrap...

Then the vox call came in, Lord Fulgrim requesting more heavy-duty power armor grade acid, never mind that the amount in the kit would have been sufficient for matintence... A bad feeling started to churn in the pit of his stomach when he realized just how much more acid Lord Fulgrim had requested, combined with the amount that usually came in the kits...

Unnerved, this feeling prompted him to pick the vox up and to request a direct line to Lord Konrad immediately.

{oOo}


	46. The Long Road to Recovery III

{oOo}

Konrad ran. There was no other word for it. He had been surprised and unnerved when the daemonette had appeared before him, recognizing it for the one who had been guarding his brother's portrait/prison/soul, but before his reflex strike felled it, she had said a single word.

"Fulgrim."

He took to his heels and blazed a trail across the ship to his brother's quarters. Imperial personell flattened themselves against the wall and Marines took one look at his face and dodged out of the way to avoid getting ran over. Konrad reached into reserves he hadn't even known were there and turned into a blur, so great was his haste.

His vox chimed and he activated it out of reflex. "Speak."

_Primarch Konrad? This is Quartermaster Tagota, from Armory 3B. Primarch Fulgrim was in eariler, and he had requisitioned an armor kit as well as a weapons kit._

"And?" he asked, a sinking sensation beginning to develop in the pit of his stomach.

_And, sir, he called a little bit ago and requested more acid to be sent to his quarters. Considering how much acid combined is in those kits and how much more he ordered, I immedately called you to check if someone was with him. The amount he asked for is enough for two sets of armor, my lord, with enough left over for several power swords._

The feeling in the pit of his stomach bloomed into full out dread. "Thank you for informing me of this, Quartermaster Tagota. Call the med-bay and have them send an Apothecary to Fulgrim's quarters immediately, just in case."

_Yes sir, Lord Konrad._

Konrad cut the vox call. Later, those who had witnessed the Night Lord's Primarch from that point on claimed that all that they could see was a dark blur followed by a great gust of wind.

{oOo}


	47. Swift Across the Plains II

{oOo}

_The Game_

{oOo}

She was bored.

Esin spent another moment polishing the fuel tank of her scout bike to an even shinier finish. Usually she did not have time to get bored, but no Crusade or crisis was available while the Legions resupplied and rested, and her usual sources of entertainment and work, namely Serenity and Amphithoe, are off on the other side of the palace on some business or another, leaving her uncharacteristically idle. Normally she would have taken her bike to ride along the roads and highways surrounding the Imperial palace, but doing that alone seemed unappealing to her for some reason.

As she huffed and turned towards the workbench to get some more polish for a couple of smudges she noticed on the exhausts, she spied her favorite brother entering the vast garage that bordered the titanic mustering field of the palace. Jaghatai wandered along the rows of vehicles and personnel carriers aimlessly, heading towards his reinforced combat bike parked near the entrance close to Esin's own. Esin stood up from where she was crouched and entered his field of view, causing the massive Primarch to direct a disinterested wave towards her.

"Bored?" She called out, as he, like she did half an hour ago, pulled a cloth and polish jar from the shelves of a workbench.

"Out of my mind." answered the gruff steppe warrior. "Just got out of a debriefing with Father. Nothing to do for a couple of hours at least, and I am already bored."

"Fancy a game?" Esin said, grinning.

"Race? Hell no. That little thing of yours might be spindly, but it is damn fast when it needs to be." Jaghatai answered. He was tired of being humiliated by the swift little dart of a bike Esin used.

"Who said anything about a race?" Esin retorted, her grin widening. She pointed towards the row of sturdy sacks full of sand stacked next to the garage door. "That's no day old, soaked calf carcass, but it looks like it weighs a firm 300 pounds. What do you say?"

"Qarajai?" Jaghatai answered. It had been too long since he found time to play the game he enjoyed during his childhood on the steppes.

"Yep." Esin answered, rummaging in a small jar and fishing out a piece of charcoal. She stepped out into the sun, taking a deep breath. She felt her blood quickening in her veins. It had been too long. She drew a large circle on the ground some thirty yards away from the large doors, then pointed towards the steps leading to the palace gates on the other end of the mustering grounds, nearly two miles away.

"This is Halal. That's the marker. I think this would be sufficient."

"Yes," Jaghatai answered, "enough distance. But two people are hardly enough for a good game."

"Your bodyguards must be around somewhere." Esin mused. "Gather them. Also I think some of your brothers are also around. Leman is, as far as I know. I think we can... convince them to play."

"Good idea." A grin split Jaghatai's face. "Let's see how my boastful brother does in a man's game."

Grinning like a pair of loons, the pair sprinted into the Imperial Palace to find vict... competitors for their insanity... game.

{oOo}

AN: And here is the first of many guest pieces by the talented Lord Khuzdul.


	48. Swift Across the Plains III

{oOo}

_The Game II_

{oOo}

"So, who challenges Russ?" Esin asked, knowing that the Fenrisian primarch would be unable to turn away from such a challenge.

"I have a plan." Jaghatai answered, as they exited the mess hall with five White Scar marines in tow. The steppe warriors didn't even hesitate before jumping to their feet and following their primarch. Buzkashi is a nearly forgotten taste of home, and the rambunctious group relished the chance of feeling the exhilaration it brought to them.

"He might try to avoid it once he learns it is played on bikes, but if I feed it to him correctly, he will come running to the field." He added, grinning. Esin gave him a wry grin, eyes flashing mischievously.

"You'll boast and taunt within his hearing, then insult his manhood when he rises to it, right?" Jaghatai chuckled.

"You know he won't be able to get out of that. Okay, you go and get a couple more players. Playing field is small, but I think we will still need ten or so players."

Esin shook her head ruefully. "Oh, your funeral. I'll just make sure there are some apothecaries around, or try and get Serenity to arrive at the end of the game. We'll definitely need them. And you will be explaining the casualties to your Father and your Sister."

As she walked away, Jaghatai hesitated for a moment. He was not concerned about the Emperor, but Serenity hated when people got hurt. He shook his head. Just a little game. How bad could it be?

{oOo}

Jaghatai, with his bodyguards in tow, walked into the dining hall he knew Leman Russ was eating, boasting loudly to his bodyguards and a group of Guardsmen he recruited for his plan from a nearby R&R area. They followed him closely, listening attentively, captured by the wild tale he was spinning.

"Then I snapped a backhand over him to Uraz. He went flying!" He laughed. "Along with the Halal. Kislik tried to grab it, but I was faster. I tell ya, reaching between the legs of a galloping horse from the saddle of another, and pulling a whole calf without tripping it takes some skill. Especially while his rider tries to take your ear off with his whip." He noticed the Fenrisian warrior look up from his meal. "Never forget, Buzkashi is a game for real men! You have to be quick witted! Ruthless, quick, skillful. No ham-fisted brute can handle the field of honor." He sniped lightly, making Russ frown. "I never forget the time I got the Halal from the hands of Shahkir from the Tamar tribe. He was very skilled, I give you that, and he was like a demon in the saddle. When he took the Halal, he became the wind, but wind with teeth!" He laughed again. "Teeth I broke, of course!"

Leman Russ stood up, curious, and walked towards the group, his wolves dutifully following at his heels. Jaghatai noted his approach, and turned to greet him. "Come, brother. I was talking about a game we used to play, back on Chogoris."

"Tell me about it." Leman Russ answered. "Sounds interesting."

"Ahh, it is, brother, it is. Takes courage, skill and strength. We call it Buzkashi, or Kökbörü, in the name of the Sky Wolf that is the ancestor of my people. Ten, twenty men on horseback or bikes try to get a calf carcass, Halal, around the marker on one end of the field and back to the starting point. The winner is the one who manages to complete the journey." The steppe warrior then looked over his brother. "Maybe not your cup of tea, though. It might be difficult for someone with your... skill set."

Leman Russ frowned. Jaghatai suppressed a grin. Subtle enough, but still got a rise out of his hotheaded brother. Only Angron would have been easier. "I would shy away from no game of yours, brother."

Jaghatai looked up to the Wolf Lord from the bench he was sitting. "You sure, brother? The men of the steppes ride hard. Are you sure you are up to it?"

Leman Russ was incensed. He was second to no one. He did not even register he was being manipulated into it. "Name your time and place, brother. I will show you, this game of yours is no challenge for me."

Jaghatai did not hold back his grin this time. "You are on, brother. Esin and I were thinking about holding a small game on the mustering field. Go to the garage and get yourself a bike. Let's see how you fare on the field of honor."

Leman Russ just growled in answer and stalked off. Jaghatai chuckled. This was too easy. Now, maybe a couple more...

{oOo}

AN: And here is more Esin and Jaghatai from Khuzdul~


	49. The Long Road to Recovery IV

{oOo}

Konrad Curze knew fear. Long ago, before the Imperium, he had been the horror that kept monsters at bay. The fear he had evoked back than was the primal sort. An unknown punishing criminals, leaving their mutilated bodies on display was more terrifying then a human doing the same. After all, you could not protect yourself from a spirit of vengeance lurking in the dark.

Later, fear was what he instilled on many a planet. He controlled himself much better for the sake of Serenity. She would have been disappointed with him, had he simply slaughtered a city and broadcasted the recording all over the planet. Yet fear was a potent weapon, one that, paradoxically, allowed avoiding unnecessary bloodshed. For generations to come, mother taught children to fear the night, but they were alive to do so.

Now, he was learning about fear from another side. He was afraid.

The acid. Why would Fulgrim need so much acid? It was a long time since he last cursed his mind for working so well. He did not need the images. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? He'd seen it happen before.

But Fulgrim was his mentor. He was confident to the point of arrogance. It was so very hard to think of him as a victim. It hurt.

This probably accounted for the door. It was most likely a bad idea to break through it instead of walking in, but—the acid. Why so much acid?

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice on the edge of panic.

{oOo}

AN: And as they kindly pointed out to me, Skortch aka Maverick Hunter Phoenix has had a hand in this series of snippets to, thank you~ XD


	50. The Long Road to Recovery V

{oOo}

He stood in the dark holding the jar of acid in one hand, fumbling with his armor with his other. He had turned off the lights to lower the risk of seeing the skin even from the corner of his eye.

He felt...strange. His mind was settled, utterly balanced-and on all sides the abyss yawned in hunger. His thoughts were as clear as starlight. He would have to be careful about the plague wounds in case he was carrying something-hadn't he meant to mention that to his brothers? But he had been distracted. Weakness. He flinched away before he fell.

The nice quarter master said he would send the acid over when he finished gathering it. Nice man. There'd be plenty of left over, when he was clean he could clean his real armor too and then put it on like Konrad wanted. It would make his brother happy, he thought.

"Fulgrim."

Oh, here was Konrad now, his voice sounded...odd. Fulgrim smiled at him, barely able to make him out with the contrast of the brightly lit corridor behind him. "Oh, Brother. Why are you here? I was just cleaning up," his lips twitched downwards as he realized that maybe his friend wouldn't want to be here while he washed himself.

Konrad stepped into the room letting the door close behind him. "Fulgrim, what were you going to do with that acid?" His eyes adjusted almost instantly to the comfortable darkness. The Chaos armor Fulgrim had refused to remove had been scowered to its base-mechanically.

Fulgrim blinked at him, and swayed at the ankle, as if the ship's gravity field had tilted in relation to the deck. "I-I," quieter voice, not the false assurance from before, "I shouldn't lie to you, Konrad." He was blinking hard now.

"No, you shouldn't, brother." Arms spread, stepping closer to him, slowly. "You know I will find out and then what would be the point."

"You're my brother, you might go, I should be thankful. I should be polite. I was going to clean up." He smiled, wry broken humor. "I'm a mess, brother. I have to get it off me. G-g-get it o-aw-off."

Careful, take his wrist, move it away from him, gentle slow motion of a combat disarm. Watch his eyes carefully, "Get what off?" Keep him talking.

"You put me back in my b-b-body. It's not mine. It's all wr-!" He choked it down, bowing his head and then raising it, eyes crazed. "It's not your fault the...vessel is corrupted." Shudder. "I'm sorry brother, I can't say more, I...I fear I'm going to start scr-screaming and go even more mad. Y-y-you." It was so hard to say! "You can look at it." He wrenched his head away with the effort to say that and stared at the far ceiling corner.

{oOo}


	51. The Age of Heresy

{oOo}

**The Age of Heresy**

The Age of Heresy (often also referred to as the Age of Chaos) was perhaps one of the most turbulent periods in Imperial history. Its causes appear to be beyond mortal understanding and therefore I shall focus on the happenings only.

The common consensus is that the Age of Chaos started with the failed assassination attempt at Warmaster Horus. Chaplain Erebus of the Word Bearers had shown his true colours when Primarch Horus was recuperating from wounds received on Davin's moon and stroke out at him when he could not properly fight.

Shortly after, the Word Bearers engaged in attacks on the Crusades led by Primarch Corax and Primarch Vulkan. Due to the benefit of surprise and the fact that some units joined the traitors, both Legions suffered great losses. Before they could retaliate the Word Bearers disengaged.

Corax pulled away the Raven Guard from all engagements to regroup and recover from the losses.

The Salamanders had rendezvoused with the Luna Wolves as soon as they managed to purge the traitors in their own ranks. Primarch Ferrus Manus with the 1st Company of Iron Hands also arrived at the Vengeful Spirit to aid his stricken brother. (1)

At the same time, unknown assailants have successfully assassinated Senshi Uranus. Nowadays, it is usually suspected that they were Chaos cultists, seeking to sow further Chaos.

A few months later, the 2nd Company of the Emperor's Children reinforced Senshi Neptune, bearing a warning from Primarch Fulgrim. Amphithoe of Chemos took command and engaged in several attacks on planets that have started showing chaotic activity.

Primarch Perturabo's homeplanet, Olympia, was engulfed in civil war, shortly after, which the Iron Warriors were forced to quench. Attempting to keep the losses at minimum had kept the Legion occupied for a significant part of the decade, preventing the Primarch from engaging other actions. An additional factor in that prevented Perturabo from leaving Olympia, was the fact that a significant part of his Legion joined the rebels.

The 1st Company of the Death Guard had suffered a terrible, but unfortunately not fatal attack by chaotic forces in transit. Senshi Saturn and Primarch Mortarion attempted to minimize the damage inflicted by the corrupted Marines, which kept a significant part of the Legion occupied with chasing Typhon and his host of Plague Marines.

The Ultramarines had been summoned to Terra by the Emperor himself to reinforce the Imperial Fists, as a rebellion broke out on Mars. Senshi Mars and Mercury were also engaged in quelling this revolt. However, the arrival of Guilliman was significantly delayed as a he was attacked by the Alpha Legion shortly before he was supposed to enter the Warp. Only the swift arrival of Senshi Venus allowed the Legion to disengage and begin their journey towards Terra.

The Thousand Sons petitioned the Emperor to be allowed to leave Prospero, as indicated by Astropathic records on their homeworld. However, their message never arrived and instead the Space Wolves received orders to bring Magnus to Terra dead or alive. The origin of the orders remains unknown to this day. Only the swift actions of Senshi Jupiter and the Princess prevented bloodshed.

The World Eaters abruptly withdrew from all warzones early in the Age of Chaos without explanation, although later indications are that they were fighting either an internal civil war or a particularly brutal campaign in what would later be declared the Segmentum Obscura as they resurfaced in this area, re-establishing order in a particularly brutal fashion across dozens of Sectors.

Angron's personal report to the Emperor was not to be made for over a decade, although he was visited by and apparently provided satisfactory explanation for his absence to Primarchs Sanguinius and Mortarion. A number of his Legion were thereafter identified as traitors to the Imperium and in some cases they have been encountered alongside members of the Traitor Legions. However the numbers identified are not enough to account for the losses: in excess of half the World Eaters were simply not in evidence upon their return and no public explanation has been given.

Due to unknown reasons, Caliban was destroyed, forcing the Dark Angels to assume a defensive position in a friendly system, as they could not allow themselves to suffer great losses without a recruitment world.

A similar fate befell Nostramo and Chorogis, though in this case the perpetrators are known. Three whole companies of the Night Lords had gone renegade and managed to destroy both worlds, while their Primarch attempted to make contact with the Emperor's Children.

Meanwhile, Captain Saul Travitz arrived at Medusa with a warning for Ferrus Manus. However, since the Primarch of the Iron Hands was still occupied aiding the Warmaster, Travitz was forced to wait for the situation to clarify itself. (2)

In the meantime, the Emperor's Children engaged in vicious in-fighting, with the traitors finally gaining the upper hand. Upon purging their ranks of loyalists, they started orgies of gore and debauchery on any inhabited planet they could reach.

It was during those chaotic moments that the treacherous Word Bearers and Alpha Legion chose to attack Terra. Aided by daemons and warp-infused machines, they joined the rebellious Mechanium Adepts in their assault. Despite being completely taken by surprise, the Imperial Fists aided by the Custodes, Senshi Pluto and the Emperor himself had put up a valiant defense of the Palace (3). The Arch-Traitor Lorgar managed to severely wound both the Emperor and Rogal Dorn, just as the Ultramarine reinforcements entered the system.

{oOo}

(1) It is also the only recorded instance of Ferrus Manus and Vulkan working on a joint project. To this day, the Warmaster's artificial hands are considered the pinnacle of Imperial augmentics.

(2) The fact that both Captains Demeter and Travitz bore personal warning from Fulgrim, contributed to the belief that the Primarch's later appearances as a leader of the traitors were some form of Chaos trickery and that the real Primarch Fulgrim was either trapped or dead. His later rescue has proven that it was indeed the case, though many still insist, he did turn traitor and his recovery is all a trick of the traitors.

(3) The holodrama _Night of the Traitors_ is a particularly good dramatization with little embellishments.

{oOo}


	52. The Princess' Shield

{oOo}

Azmina Dorn found herself at a loss for words for the first time in her life. She had been quite shocked when she found out that her cousin pledge allegiance to somebody calling themselves "The Emperor of Mankind". Really, conceited much? However, now as she faced said man, she found such thoughts evaporating from her head.

It was somehow similar to speaking with Cousin Rogal only on a much larger scale. Was this how other people felt around him?

Still, it wasn't all. She could feel… What was this feeling? It was warm and familiar, like she had found her purpose in life. It wasn't the Emperor, who had awoken that feeling. He inspired awe. If he was a flame than it was one too bright to look at. He made her feel like a moth about to be burned.

Then her eyes met the blue gaze of the Princess and Azmina knew what her purpose in life was. She existed to protect the Princess, shield her with her life from any danger. The warmth was what the Princess was; but one would not burn from coming too close to her.

Instinctively, Azmina kneeled in front of her Lady, her hand touching her chest.

{oOo}


	53. Swift Across the Plains IV

{oOo}

_Simple Joys_

{oOo}

_"The greatest joy for a man is to defeat his enemies, to drive them before him, to take from them all they possess, to see those they love in tears, to ride their horses..."_

'But you prefer the answer Burguchi gave, don't you, my friend...' Esin thought as she watched the White Scars Primarch push his bike out of the garage onto the parade grounds from her perch on the battlements. He was restless, more prone to frowning and snapping at other people lately. His brothers and his sister were busy enough, so were the Senshi, but Esin noticed, and she knew at least Serenity noted the change too.

But Serenity did not know the reason. Esin did.

Chogoris bred strong, hardy people. Free people, whose world was only limited by the horizon and the sky above. On the plains of Chogoris, life was hard. But it was also fair. No matter how hard, how far you rode, another horizon waited for you, open and free, inviting.

But on Terra, magnificent as she is with vast palaces and hives, there was one thing missing. The horizon. With its massive walls, towering spires and vast hives, the horizon was impossible to see, and the world all too small, with low hanging clouds and smog obscuring the skies above.

It was pure torment from a nomad from Chogoris, who could not even bear to live in the soaring palace of Palatine even though the windows overlooked the plains.

To be caged. Chained. To be limited by walls, ceilings, borders, paths. It choked the steppe nomad.

Esin understood that feeling well, for she felt the crushing weight of those same walls herself. She coped, and she knew she coped well, at least better than Jaghatai. At least she had the sweet distraction Amphithoe provided her. Jaghatai lacked that. And she knew the walls, the inescapable walls that came with their new existence smothered him.

She raised her head, and smiled slightly. A speck among the clouds resolved itself into a small, swift, winged shape. Esin could not cure her friend completely, but a small taste of home, a small breath of steppe air might help lighten the burden of walls on his soul. It took some doing, but few things were impossible for a Senshi.

Jaghatai raised his head as he heard the piercing, sharp, achingly familiar cry tear through the air over his head. His eyes sought and immediately found the source, and they met blue orbs just as the beautiful, regal falcon that was the owner of the cry landed softly on the leather clad arm of the familiar form. A smile split his face, and he hurried towards the stairs that took him to the top of the walls. Esin chuckled softly. Whatever you can say, people of Chogoris needed little to find their joy.

_"Getting on my beautiful horse, on a fine spring day, with a falcon on my wrist, and ride off to hunt, and see what my falcon brings..."_

{oOo}

AN: Another look at Esin and Jaghatai by Khuzdul.


	54. Mourning the Sky

{oOo}

The towering aviary was silent as he entered. The falcons and hawks kept there was sent back to Mundus Planus after Esin died. He was away most of the time, and his heart did not allow any servant handling the birds Esin spent so many hours of loving care on.

Everybody in the Imperium knew about the love between Senshi Uranus and Senshi Neptune. But few remembered that she and Jaghatai were from the same planet, same lands. That they were friends, comrades, brother and sister in every sense but blood. Unlike him, who played the barely-civilized steppe nomad to the hilt, Esin was ever graceful, ever elegant. Few if anything suggested that her upbringing was the same as his, that she came from a yurt and mare's milk like he did. Few knew she was a nomad at heart.

Nobody knew, but him. He did when she tended the falcons she brought for him, but ended up enjoying a lot more as his duties took him away a lot more frequently than hers did. He knew when they rode the winding roads of Terra, when Esin dragged beautiful Amphithoe, giggling and feebly protesting, to the back of her bike, like a nomad spiriting away his beloved in the dead of night from her father's yurt. He knew when she organized a pick up game of Buzkashi in the palace courtyard, and stood and took brother Rogal's rage alongside him, Lion and Russ, all the while exchanging glances and grinning like schoolboys caught in the act by the teacher.

He did not resent people for remembering her as the Senshi Uranus, beloved of Neptune, protector. But he treasured her as the child of the steppes, daughter of the wind and the blue skies, and the beloved of falcons. A sad smile flitted over his face. He wondered, what would those poets think, who described the Maiden as someone innocent songbirds would flock to, if they saw her here, with dozens of hawks, falcons and other birds of prey flocking around her, her fingers stained with blood as she fed them small rodents and pieces of meat, her hands gracefully dancing along their sharp beaks and killing claws, with the smile of innocent delight you may see on the face of a small girl feeding pigeons on one of the plazas of Terra.

A Maiden, but a Maiden of the Wastes, wild and free, as befitting of her.

Jaghatai smiled. He was turning into a poet himself. He wondered what would his more artistically inclined brothers think. He shook his head, dispersing the heavy thoughts cluttering it. It was time to go back to his duties. He would contend himself with remembering. After the upheaval experienced by the Imperium, few spared any thought for the fallen Senshi. He would, and he would remember her as she would have wanted to be remembered.

As the wind over the steppes, and the droning songs of the tribe bards she loved so much. As the Maiden of Blue Skies.

{oOo}

AN: Post-Heresy, Jaghatai thinks of Esin, again by Khuzdul.


	55. Grief

{oOo}

Vulkan had decided to visit Serenity on a whim. They were in the same sector, after all and he hadn't seen her in some time. They all had so much to do now, even though things have calmed down significantly. He supposed it was partially the reason why they were so busy. With the attacks of the traitors becoming sporadic, they had time to focus on rebuilding what had been destroyed. It kept everyone occupied.

Serenity's guards nodded politely as they let him into her quarters. Vulkan nodded back, as he entered.

While he knew Serenity had a lot of duties now that Father was confined to the Golden Throne as his wounds healed, he had not expected to find her behind her desk. It just didn't seem very much like, but there she was, staring at various documents spread before her. But… she didn't appear to be reading them at all. Her gaze simply stopped on them.

Did she even notice him enter?

"Serenity?" he asked, hoping not to startle her. Slowly, she looked up at him and he felt his heart sink at her expression.

She blinked and swallowed, but she couldn't stop the tears from falling. Vulkan didn't really consider his options, he acted. He covered the distance between them quickly, kneeling down at her side.

"Sister, what's the matter?" he asked, taking her hand in his.

"Fulgrim is _gone_, F-father is so hurt, so many are dead and lost and _w-worse_," her voice cracked in increasing grief and self-loathing at the next words, "And _I couldn't save Lorgar….!_"

Vulkan was not one to wish violent death on his brothers, but right now he wouldn't mind gutting Lorgar with a spoon. Through his nose. While roasting him alive. The traitorous bastard caused so much harm!

Yet Serenity blamed herself for his fall.

"None of us could," he said quietly. "None of us noticed."

He squeezed her hand harder. "Please, don't cry. Without you it'd be much worse. You saved Magnus and so many others."

He carefully leant up and embraced her. His sister sobbed into his chest and Vulkan decided his visit would be a lot longer than he planned. Serenity needed him.

{oOo}

AN: Again, after the worst (the first twenty years) of the Age of Heresy.


	56. Family II

{oOo}

Azmina Dorn was far from being unpopular with men. She was quite beautiful and friendly, so striking a conversation with her was not a problem. There were many jokes she found funny, though sometimes her own attempts at humor proved to be too bizarre for anybody else to understand.

Nevertheless, she had never been engaged. As a daughter of a distant cousin of the patriarch of clan Dorn, she was a rather unlikely candidate to be wed for political reasons. Her own parents did attempt to subtly set her up with several young men, but the relationships always ended one way or another.

This was when The Ace showed up. He was a young actor, quite a popular one, especially with women. His name was kept secret. His invitation to partake in celebrations with clan Dorn came from on of the older important female members and had been frowned upon by post male members.

Rogal Dorn found that the whole situation greatly annoying, but he appeared to be mentally eleven at that point. The Ace did not appear in action holos, so as far as young Rogal was concerned he could come and entertain all the women he wanted, just as long as he staid away from Rogal himself and his books on architecture.

This state of things would have continued had it not been for a certain incident. During the second week of The Ace's stay, Rogal stumbled upon his cousin Azmina. While such meetings usually resulted on mature discussions on the matter of Rogal's alleged cuteness and appropriate conduct regarding his hair—which did not involve messing it up even more than it already was, this one went differently simply because of one thing: Azmina was crying.

The explanation Azmina provided for her state was simple. She was a fan of The Ace and had asked him to go out with her. He spurned her advances, pointing out that she was just one of many girls that had a soft spot for him. While he also added some odd things about seeing that Azmina's heart belonged to another, Rogal Dorn found his conduct unacceptable.

So, he patted Azmina's head and told her The Ace would apologize.

After another week, The Ace left the Dorn estates never to return again and would reputedly faint at the mention of Rogal Dorn.

{oOo}

AN from Mary: And now, Azmina and the 30k version of Danburite aka Adonis aka Kaitou Ace the main antagonist of Sailor V. Also staring, the wrath of Rogal Dorn.


	57. The Sky Falls

{oOo}

Esin walked back into her quarters in the Imperial battleship assigned to her with a weary sigh. It had been a long day, and it was not easy for her to go through all these ambassadorial assignments. But strange cultural twists made strange assignments, and this steppe-roaming matriarchy required someone who can relate to them, so it fell to her to play the role her love or Serenity usually played.

The Amazons of this strange planet, Kalgar IV, was certainly advanced enough, with a beautiful Starport and colonies in the other planets of the system, and amiable enough that there was no problem in their reintegration into the Imperium. Still, this was not a game she was used to play, and it tired her out.

She approached the golden cage that held her favorite falcon, a large, imposing specimen from a far away Death World in the outer reaches of Ultima Segmentum. She thought about her aviary in the palace on Terra. Strange how something she started just to cheer up Jaghatai turned into a hobby dear to her heart. She hated missing the birth of a new nestful of chicks, as the mated pair of Cadian eagles Angron gave her had just laid eggs when she set out, and would probably hatch before she managed to get back, but still, she would probably see their first attempts at flying unless another thing came up.

She fastened the reinforced leather bracer to her left forearm and held it out for the magnificent bird to step on it. She gently caressed the falcon's wings as she listened to the battleship's engines start humming, taking the gigantic vessel out of orbit and away from the planet on the course that would take it back to Terra.

{oOo}

A shape silently moved through the halls of the great battleship, devoid of life at this time as the great ship accelerated out of orbit. She was dressed as a mechanic's mate, and she pulled her grease-covered cap low over her eyes as she passed between the imposing, power-armored giants that guarded the engine compartment of the vessel.

Adira belonged to a death cult from Kalgar IV that venerated a strange series of Gods that talked to them through their shamans. The head shaman, when the news of the arrival of Imperial envoys came, went into a trance and wake up screaming, and told a story of horror and destruction, telling all of them that the coming of the Imperium was the footsteps of doom, bringing death and destruction to their world.

The decision of the Shamans was final. The Imperial envoys and the leadership that sold them out to the Imperium would perish.

The preperations were long and ardurous. First, the cultists ambushed a group of crewmembers from the Imperial battleship that brought the envoys. The powers of the Shamans tore all the relevant knowledge from their minds for them to formulate a plan.

A plan, that led her to here. The magic of the Shamans adjusted the memories of the team and switched a girl among them with a passable lookalike, Adira. She was tasked to sabotage the ship and to make it look like an accident. They were not trying to antagonize the Imperium, after all, they just wanted to be left alone. If any other envoy came, they would say how sorry they were about the accident and refuse further contact, citing a disagreement about fine print.

So, Adira entered the vast engine compartment, and made her way towards the crucial chamber that would make all this possible. The technician attenting the station was one of her teammates, and he greeted her cheerfully, unaware of the switch.

Adira smiled, and walked past him to stand next to the large machine that dominated the chamber. The inertial compensator. The part that protected them from the crushing acceleration of the battleship.

A little twist of her tongue opened a compartment in her false tooth, and she swallowed the pill stuck there. The pill went down her esophagus, or what remained of it, and struck something halfway down her chest, something that replaced her entire digestive system.

A sub-kiloton fusion charge, not a city killer by any measure, but still, a dangerous weapon that caused a large explosion.

Especially lethal, considering its location.

All went white as the charge detonated.

{oOo}

Esin's breath hitched.

{oOo}

Light years away, in a ship very similar to the one Senshi Uranus was on, in quarters considerably more elegant, Senshi Neptune woke up with a start. Her eyes widened for an instant, then closed, and tears leaked from their corners as the Lady of the Depths started crying.

{oOo}

On the other side of the galaxy, on a wild jungle world, White Scars Primarch Jaghatai Khan was riding alongside his troops on a Razorback. He lifted his head as he heard a familiar sound that did not belong.

The cry of a falcon.

He lowered his eyes as the voice registered. The marines around him looked at each other in confusion as he started to hum a mourning tune sung by the steppe bards.

{oOo}

It ended immediately, as acceleration equal to thousand Terran standard crushed down upon the inhabitants of the vessel. One moment, the ship was home to half a million souls, including one Senshi.

The next, naught but a red paste remained. A couple moments later, that too ceased to exist as the plasma reactors of the vessel, unable to handle the acceleration on top of the detonation, let go.

They became a bright, but brief star in the skies above Kalgar IV.

{oOo}

AN: And another piece from Khuzdul, set early in the Age of Heresy.


	58. The Last Straw

{oOo}

Hostia III was dead. The First Company of the Death Guard was meant to deal with a small insurgence, but the rest of the fleet lost contact with the Terminus Est shortly after it entered the warp. In itself, it was nothing unusual and so the Expedition Fleet wrapped up its business before following the course the lost ship was meant to take. Once they left the warp they were met with the sight of a devastated world, whole continents covered in rot.

Senshi Saturn was forced to bring her glaive down upon it, forever silencing whatever illness had wracked it. Only once the planet was void of any life, down to the most insignificant bacterium, did the First Company make contact.

Mortarion watched the message, but the sense eluded him. It was garbage in written form. He crumpled the note in his massive fist, rage building inside him. While most of the communiqué was nonsense about some "Father Nurgle" and transgressions against his love for all life, one point was all to clear. Typhon claimed Persephone was an abomination and admitted to releasing the plague on Hostia III. That would not be forgiven.

"My Lord," Grulgor said, "Will we not let Calas explain himself?"

"I see nothing to explain," Mortarion said quietly.

"Somebody may be trying to frame him," Grulgor persisted.

Mortarion's look was frigid and the 2nd Captain fell silent, cowed by his Primarch's silent fury.

"Sir!" one of the operators cried from the bridge. "Terminus Est has appeared in our sensors."

"Fire at will," Mortarion drawled. "Traitors deserve no warning."

For a moment the bridge was abuzz, as the information was being relayed to the other ships. Then, suddenly, the same operator called out:

"Sir! Terminus Est entered the Warp!"

Mortarion remained outwardly calm, more like a statue as the noise died down. Typhon had apparently counted on exactly this kind of reaction from his Primarch. The silence slowly drowned everything else, its icy tendrils reaching into the hearts of those presents. Fear was beginning to awaken, when Mortartion spoke again.

"We are heading to Barbarus."

Even if Typhon knew how Mortarion thought, the same applied the other way around and Mortarion was still the smarter one. If Typhone wanted to play catch, he would find himself outmaneuvered.

{oOo}


	59. The Long Road to Recovery VI

{oOo}

Ferrus Manus was deeply offended. To make matters worse he was offended with his own chest that refused to heal at a satisfactory pace. Admittedly, in his opinion satisfactory equaled instant and he was prepared to agree that he was being slightly unreasonable. How he hated being tied to a bed and not being able to do anything useful.

He should be out of bed. Fulgrim was a lot worse than he had expected. He had thought there might be some trauma, but… Somehow his mind had refused to come up with the option of Fulgrim being really hurt. Fulgrim had always been confident. He was a primarch.

Bah. Excuses. It was Ferrus' own weakness that prevented him from preparing for this eventuality. He was afraid that Fulgrim might be worse and refused to think about it, instead of doing the right thing and preparing. However that was a past mistake and he would simply have to do everything in his might not let it have any disastrous consequences.

At least Curze managed to prevent one catastrophe, though he didn't explain how. Ferrus felt like twisting the head of one those idol-worshippers when he thought about it. But this would have to wait. He and Curze agreed one of them should keep an eye on Fulgrim all the time and it was his turn.

He shifted slightly. Usually, it had been Fulgrim who talked more when they were together. But now he was doing all the talking. Predictably, he ended up talking about weapon-crafting and how he wanted to get his hands on one of the bows from the Interex.

"Do you want me to make you a new sword?" he asked. "I'm sorry, we simply couldn't find Fireblade."

Maybe that would get some positive reaction out of Fulgrim?

Fulgrim looked up at him and stopped his nervous jittering, though his jaw worked a few times, nothing coming out.

"A…a new sword?" He spoke quietly. "I think," to get this skin off him, to kill any daemon that came close to him, to loose again, "I think I would like that, brother." He averted his eyes again, following the edges of the room like they were art. "If," you think I'm worthy of it, "you believe I will take good care of it."

Fulgrim knew that Ferrus would not approve of one of his blades being used to skin his own flesh and blood.

Maybe...Maybe when they returned to Terra he wouldn't have to? There would be doctors and apothecaries who would make certain there was nothing left. They would see, though; he wasn't sure how he felt about that. By that he meant he was divided between reasons to void his stomach.

"If I'm still worthy of it."

{oOo}


	60. Rites

{oOo}

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Konrad followed the sounds of rhythmic thumping to a high balcony of the Imperial palace. The sound was strange, like an axe on wood, not a familiar sound in these halls, nor one he was familiar with from Nostramo. However, he knew the accompanying sound. The sharp hum of throat singing, a sound that vibrated in the listener's bones. He knew the owner of the song. Jaghatai.

As he opened the doors, the first thing he noted was the open view. This balcony was one of the few you can see some kind of horizon on Terra. From the spires of the Palace, the slopes of the mountains once known as Himalayas descended towards a jumble of roads, cities, mines and industries that covered the plains formerly known as Mongolia. It was impossible to see the earth, but still, from this lofty vantage point, the view stretched for miles without being interrupted by any walls, chimneys or towers, into the murky haze that filled the old planet's atmosphere.

The dark haired Primarch tore his gaze away from the view to turn it towards the figure facing the railing. His brother, Jaghatai Khan sat in the middle of the wide balcony, naked from the waist up, and clad only in a pair of loose pants. He was surrounded by crude woodworking tools crafted for his large hands: A handaxe, a chipping hatchet, a small handsaw and a large knife. The knife sat next to the man, lying on a clean, red cloth. Konrad noted, with great concern, that the edge was stained crimson.

Jaghatai was working on a piece of log as thick as a man's leg, and as tall as a young boy. The hatchet in his hands chipped at the wood in broad, practiced strikes, and carved a crude face into it. A bunch of other logs, carved into the likeness of men and xenos, were leaned against the railing in front of the Primarch, and a stack of logs were piled to the side.

The primarch was humming a song of mourning as he worked. Konrad stood still as he watched his brother, loathe to interrupt. They all watched him with growing concern all these months. When Esin died, Jaghatai was understandably angry. Then he lost his homeworld. Guilt stabbed deep in Konrad's gut as he thought about that. It was his fault, his sons that caused his brother pain. There was almost no consoling Jaghatai, but he soldiered on. Then they lost Amphithoe. That almost hit him harder than the others, for some reason. But there was no time. Times were too chaotic, too wild, too dangerous to stop and mourn.

But it was winding down now. Things were getting calmer, the fires were sputtering out, and the days they spent running ragged, rushing from one end of the galaxy trying to stop the next catastrophe was coming to an end.

And everything was crashing down on them. Their Father and Rogal were barely alive. Horus was just starting to recover. Angron was still off somewhere, doing something, what, only Sanguinius knew. The traitors were gone. And the remaining ones were barely holding together by their fingertips. Not just the Imperium, but themselves as well.

And as they slowly found time to stop and think, and grieve, the full extent of their wounds started weighing down on them. And Konrad knew, few among them were wounded as sorely as Jaghatai, even as he tried to act strong.

His musings were interrupted as Jaghatai paused humming as he finished and put aside his work, leaning the small, finished statue against the railing next to others. He reached down to the knife at his side, and grabbed it, bringing it up to his chest. Konrad almost leapt forward, but his hands were gentle as they closed around his brother's to keep him from adding another red line to the ones already criscrossing his chest many times. He took the knife away, and set it back down on the cloth. Jaghatai didn't look up. His eyes were half-closed.

"These are Balbal." He said in an almost unnaturally calm voice. "Statues of vanquished foes. They are erected around the graves of the fallen, to escort their souls up to Ucmaq, as a honor guard." He reached for another log, and laid it across his knees. "Normally, the kin of the fallen carve and erect them. It seems it falls to me, for all of them. Last son of the steppes." He finally turned towards Konrad, and the look in his dark eyes tore at the dark Primarch's heart. "The only one who remains." He went on bitterly. "The only one who failed to protect them. The only one who failed to save them. The honorless one. The one who betrayed his sister's trust, who failed to protect what was entrusted to him." He chuckled bitterly. "I don't know I would rate a Balbal next to my grave, brother. What is the meaning of thousands defeated, when you failed the true test, the one that mattered the most? But no one else is left. No one."

Konrad shook his head. "It was not your failure, brother, it was mine." He picked up the handaxe that laid between them.

Jaghatai looked at him for a moment, then handed him a log. "Quite a pair, aren't we, brother?" He said, a humorless smile on his lips. Konrad's answering smile was just as dry. The steppe warrior then turned his eyes back to the horizon as he started humming again, picking up his tools and another log. Konrad's low hum joined his as the rhythmic thumping began again, but this time, in a strange duet, that, somewhat sounded less mournful than the single, dirgelike tempo before.

{oOo}

AN: Another Age of Heresy Jaghatai piece from Khuzdul.


	61. Legacy

{oOo}

Senshi Neptune sat at the viewport of her quarters, numbly watching the stars. Her mind was awhirl with thoughts, strategies, plans, contingencies, but all the clutter barely covered one hard and biting truth.

She was dead.

As she watched the sharp-featured shuttlecraft that took off from the White Scars battlebarge enter the hangar bays of her battleship, the ragged edges of grief grinded ever more sharply into her heart.

For she knew the man coming to her was grieving just as deeply.

And they both suffered, for there was no time to properly mourn. Even this meeting was a haphazard affair, mostly arranged by Jaghatai, who, even in great hurry, managed to juggle his warp route to cross hers in a refueling break.

The bleak musings of the sea-green haired woman was cut short as her guard announced the arrival of Primarch Jaghatai Khan. She turned towards the imposing, tanned warrior, her casual wave dismissing the attendants, leaving the two alone.

Barely in time to provide sufficient privacy for her breakdown as she wordlessly collapsed into his arms, tears making way down her pale cheeks. Jaghatai almost instinctively gathered her and held her, her cheek on the chestplate of his armor, and his armored fingers were soothing as he rubbed her back gently.

Her breakdown, thankfully for the warrior Primarch, did not last long, lest he became awkward and unsure about what to do. Amphithoe straightened, and looked into grief-filled, dark orbs, blinking away the last of her tears. She became concerned when she noticed the new scar that bisected his left cheek, which looked angry, red, deep, new. Her fingers gently touched it.

"What happened?" She asked, concerned, for the enhanced healing metabolism that resulted from the Primarch genes did not allow easy scarring.

"Don't worry." He answered, calmly. "My world's customs. To honor the fallen, we carve a monument in our flesh." His lips quirked in a humorless smile. "There is a reason my legion is called the White Scars."

Amphithoe smiled softly. "Thank you for coming, Jaghatai. I am still... I... Is she really gone? Like that? Everything we hoped, dreamed about, just..."

The primarch cut her off with a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe. But I shall not rest before all those responsible pay for it." He said, a touch awkwardly, but with conviction. Then in a surer, but softer voice, he continued. "Amphithoe, I want to tell you something. Among my people, kinship is the strongest of bonds. And family takes care of family. Esin entrusted you to me. You have been my sister in all but blood until now, but now you are also the greatest legacy of her for me. I'd like you to know that you can ask anything from me. And I also consider your safety and health my personal responsibility. I know you can look after yourself just fine." He hurried to add, afraid of offending her, "But for my peace of mind, since I cannot be personally here, would you consent to my leaving a company of my marines with you, here? Their leader, Beyrek Tigin, is a close friend of mine, and he will protect you with his life, as I would have done."

Amphithoe looked conflicted for a moment. But she knew Jaghatai took his honor very seriously, and apparently this was a matter of honor for him. She finally, reluctantly nodded. Jaghatai gave a relaxed sigh, and prepared to rise, but hesitated.

"She never had the chance to take you to Chogoris, right?" He asked.

Amphithoe nodded.

"Then I will do it in her place. I will take you to her 'll like the steppes. I think they still keep a couple of horses for her." He hesitated, then fell silent. "I'll take you there." He added awkwardly, remembering the funeral customs. Those horses had to be laid to rest alongside her grave, but there wasn't a body to bury. The pain of losing her bit into him once again. He rose to leave.

As he prepared to duck out of the doorway, a hesitant question stopped him.

"Where will you be going?"

"To that accursed planet." He said, harshly. "I will see to it that whoever is responsible is punished accordingly."

Then he ducked out of the doorway and left.

{oOo}

A couple months later, Amphithoe noticed a line in reports that piled on her desk.

Kalgar IV. Severe Chaos infestation discovered. Planet cleansed via. Exterminatus under orders of Jaghatai Khan, Primarch, White Scars Legion, Adeptus Astartes.

{oOo}

AN: Another Khuzdul piece, this one set not that long (a year or so?) after Uranus' death early in the Age of Heresy.


	62. The Long Road to Recovery VII

{oOo}

That was a positive reaction, wasn't it? Never mind that hearing Fulgrim speak like this hurt. His brother was not supposed to act like this. Somehow, a part of him felt like it was his fault: he had been too late, he hadn't planned well enough… But this was not the time for self-flagellation. Those were things he could not fix and instead he should focus on the matters that he could affect.

"Remember who made Forgebreaker?" he asked, reaching out to carefully pat Fulgrim's cheek. "I carry a weapon you created, so I want you to carry one that I made."

He would have something visible to focus. Words were fine, but he couldn't see them. Words could be forgotten. A sword was real and tangible. It would be a better way to remind Fulgrim that they were friends. It wouldn't fade and it couldn't be twisted.

Besides, words were not his strong suit. He didn't know what the right thing to say was. It was best to focus on the things he knew and… and show what he meant instead of trying to explain and end up saying the wrong thing.

"Do you want anything in particular?" he asked. "We could plan the design now."

So Fulgrim would focus on something and calm down without sinking into apathy? So he wouldn't worry? So that just for a moment, it'd be at least a bit like the old times.

It was a delayed reaction, but Fulgrim undoubtedly twitched because Ferrus had touched him. Such a surprised expression on his face, and then he moved again. To knowing eyes it was obvious Fulgrim was using the slight degrees of movement that the power armor couldn't track, moving inside of it like a well practiced astarte to scratch an itch.

Only Fulgrim's entire body was apparently itching.

"T-that would be nice," he said, enunciating himself carefully while looking almost everywhere but his Brother. "Have you found any new designs on worlds? I-I-I'm afraid I won't be much use in design." Polite laughter that took on an almost harlequin edge before Fulgrim's own fist clanged down on his leg, and screeched as it edged to the knee joint, spikes almost piercing there. "I've been sst-staring at Ssla-slaneeshi d-designs for so l-long."

{oOo}


	63. The Long Road to Recovery VIII

{oOo}

He hated feeling so helpless. A part of him wants to grab Fulgrim and apologize over and over for failing him as a friend and for letting him suffer, but he knew he shouldn't, because the way he'd do it, would be just too much. So he just fought the urge to do anything like that and nodded, doing his best to act normal.

"I'll need something draw on," he said. "Then I can show you my ideas and you can tell me what you like most."

His track of thoughts was cut off abruptly, as he tried to shift again. He had moved too quickly and the pain in his chest was a remainder that Primarch or not, he still needed time to heal. With an all too visible wince, he fell back on the bed.

"I think I need help sitting up," he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. It was only a partial success.

Fulgrim's eyes widened at the wince and he jerked back, feeling strange. There were odd feelings in the back of his head and odder feelings under his...skin. Things he would reject if he could feel them clearly, but they were muffled.

His shock and worry over Ferrus was surprising to himself, not because he didn't care, but because it was so sharp and clear a feeling, even louder than the desire to clean himself and his horror at imperfection.

"N-nno." He said it to Ferrus and to himself. But Ferrus shouldn't know what he was feeling. "You should, sstay down? I'll...I'll go. Go and get something, just please? You can draw l-laying down, yes? I'll help you if you can't."

{oOo}


	64. The Power of Cute

{oOo}

Sanguinius was glad he would be the first primarch to meet the newly found Mortarion. His Legion had been in the same sector, when the Emperor and Serenity arrived at Barbarus. It was quite natural that Father requested him to join the XIV Legion's fleet and help his brother adjust to his new role.

He had been told that a Senshi had been uncovered along with Mortarion. What he had not been informed about was the fact that the Senshi was still a little girl. Persephone had been peering over Mortarion's shoulder as they talked, giving his wings shy glances. Sanguinius was quite used to that and usually approached it with stoic resignation. The IQ of most people seemed to drop significantly when faced with them. This time however he couldn't help smiling.

When the girl peeked at him again, Sanguinius asked, "Can I hold her?"

At the same time Persephone said, "Can I touch his wings?"

{oOo}


	65. The Game III: The Other Players

{oOo}

"It's just not traditional."

"Ah, for... How long do you think a real pole would last, Jubal? With us, Khan and Russ? On flagstones?"

"But a holographic one? It would look ridiculous."

"Not important. We are playing it using Bikes, for heaven's sake! Now help me pull this off."

Lion paused as he passed a conference room near the main entrance. What caused his pause was not the discussion going on, even though it sounded interesting. What caused his pause was the tremendous crash that echoed, even if it is slightly muffled by the closed door.

"Asam? You alright in there?" Came the slightly sheepish voice. The answer was a stream of curses so foul, if Leman was here, he would probably start taking notes.

This had to be investigated.

The Dark Angels Primarch gingerly opened the door. Inside, the scene was one out of those ancient film tapes Serenity once dug out from Father's archives; slapstick comedy, the name was, as far as he remembered.

A white armored marine was standing at the edge of a large hole in the middle of the room, looking too innocent to be real. He was even whistling, all the while his gaze travelled over everything in the room but the hole or his face. He was, curiously, rather tall and rather thin for a marine.

The hole covered what was formerly the space occupied by a large conference table, with a sophisticated holo-imaging system on top. It was dark, as the floor below was mostly maintainence spaces in this part of the palace. But intermittent flashes of light appeared in the darkness, and the stream of curses were emerging from the hole.

"What happened here?" might be considered too obvious a question, but nothing else came to mind for Lion.

The answer was just more whistling and twiddling of thumbs. But the stream of curses stopped. The one down there apparently recognised his voice, because a moment later, a hesitant query emerged in the same voice.

"Erm, my lord?"

{oOo}

Lion El'Jonson felt the overwhelming need to smash his palm to his forehead as he gingerly approached the edge of the hole. He watched his steps, since the floor did not look like it can handle much weight, and he was not relishing the thought of shedding his dignity before these two clowns of his brother by taking a tumble and landing next to the idiot down below.

"How did you manage this?" He asked the soot blacked face looking up to him as he reached the edge of the hole.

"Would you believe if we said we were the maintenance crew, my lord?"

The immediate arching of an eyebrow made the Primarch's answer obvious.

"We needed a holoprojector for a... project of ours, my lord." Answered the one across from him, obviously Jubal.

"Why didn't you requisition one?"

"It was a... private project, milord."

"Does this project have anything to do with one 'game' my brothers are involved in?"

Jubal gulped. Asam shrunk into the hole.

"Tell me about this game." Lion added.

Hesitatingly, the duo started explaining the strange form of steppe entertainment called Buzkashi to the Dark Angels Primarch. As they went on, a picture started appearing in Lion's head. And he understood how Khan roped Russ into this game. From what the two clowns told, it was a matter of some pride for steppe people, and Khan probably goaded Russ into it.

It seemed like a foolish, senselessly violent endeavor when looked from the outside, but it probably meant a great deal for these steppe people. That intrigued Lion. Besides, he had nothing better to do, and at the very least, it would be good exercise.

He kneeled next to the hole, and extended a hand. Asam did not hesitate to take it, and with one heave, he easily pulled the armor-clad marine out. "I'll get you your holoprojector." He said. Hesitant grins appeared on Jubal and Asam's faces. "But I want one thing in return. I want in."

Jubal and Asam nodded enthusiastically. This was getting better and better every minute.

When they walked out of the door, Lion simply entered the second conference room across the hall and with a few twists and turns, deftly ripped out the holoprojector unit from the conference table. He cradled it under his arm, and turned back to the duo.

"Lead the way. Let's see how my brothers would rate against me."

{oOo}

AN: And here is more Buzkashi preperations from Khuzdul~


	66. Hands of the Warmaster

{oOo}

It was the first time Serenity has an opportunity to truly take a good look at Horus' augmentic hands. Ferrus Manus and Vulkan have achieved something amazing. They were clearly mechanical with no adornments one might have had expected on somebody of his rank, but they were nevertheless amazing. Horus demonstrated this by arm-wrestling with Roboute, once they have to make a break to let Father rest.

"I consider it the only viable option," Roboute said, once he and Horus were done with demonstration just how incredible Vulkan's and Ferrus Manus' mechanical skills were. "Having the Legions partitioned into more modest organizations will greatly decrease the threat of their corruption as a whole."

"A thousand seems not very much," Horus replied, doubtfully. They had been discussing this point when they had to take a break, but it seemed they were going to return to the issue sooner then Serenity had anticipated.

"While it is true, I must stress that we are considering Space Marines," Roboute answered. "According to my calculations and observations, a thousand is the lowest operational number that can protect a significant sector. By scattering the Legions across many planets, we shall be more capable of shielding the Imperium. If we space out the recruitment worlds according to the pattern I have proposed we should be able to protect Imperial worlds with the greatest efficiency."

Horus eyed Guilliman for a while. "I'll have to ask Perturabo and Rogal to check your calculations."

Roboute did not appear pleased, but this was when Serenity stepped in, placing her hand on Guilliman's elbow. "You have to let others get used to your idea. It's not that Horus doesn't trust you, but he wants everything to work better than before. You have made strong points, but please let us at least review your hard work."

There was gentle chiding in her voice, as if to remind Roboute Guilliman that he was still a part of the family and that he could—and should—trust them. The Primarch of the Ultramarines nodded.

"Then I shall cede the duty of swaying my brothers to this idea to you and Horus," he replied, "as some appear to find me vexatious."

It was only when he left the Princess and the Warmaster alone that Horus voiced his opinion. "He wouldn't annoy half as many people if he tried talking like a normal human being."

{oOo}


	67. The Long Road to Recovery IX

{oOo}

Fulgrim nodded, "Al-alright. If that is what you w-want." He backed away watching Ferrus like he was afraid he would disappear. When he made the request he stuttered badly and flushed in anger.

Fulgrim hummed a few notes and made his request again, slightly singsong but much clearer. It was distinctly a request though, and focused around Ferrus. "Ferrus rek-quires paper for his designs." He said. "I appreciate it if you retrieved drafting materials..."

The Custodes saluted sharply, quick to leave, perhaps more uncomfortable with an uncomfortable Primarch than Fulgrim was with him.

When Fulgrim went to Ferrus again it was clearly with relief.

Ferrus Manus felt torn. On the one hand, he was quite sure he couldn't let Fulgrim just hide from everybody, but on the other hand, he wanted to do exactly that. But no. It would be bad. If Fulgrim had panicked at the request, he wouldn't have insisted, but since nothing like that happened, it was better that he tried.

Still, he could not miss the relief on Fulgrim's face when he finished his request. Out of them two, it had been the Phoenician that was the people person. It just wasn't right to watch him struggle with a simple request.

"You'll want a straight blade, doubled-edged, right?" he asked.

They could at least get the basics, as they waited.

Fulgrim sat again, his spine tight as a coiled spring. Muscles tensing isometrically and then releasing. "Uhm," his eyes shuttered, not blinking all the way, "Yes? Yes." His eyes drifted away again, "I don't-don't recall what happened to fuh-Fireblade."

His eyes went to his hands, had he destroyed it, or given it away, or the daemon?

Things were strange and tangled and he felt panic rising as if from far away, "I-my, my memory isn't so good." Frightening, it should be impossible.

{oOo}


	68. Rites II

{oOo}

During a short break, Serenity found a chance to slip away and wander the halls of the Imperial Palace for a couple of hours. She seized it with both hands.

And now her wanderings led her to a hallway that ended with a set of double doors. The doors were closed, but the rhythmic thumping coming from the other side drew her like a moth to a flame.

She opened the doors to a strange visage. Two of her brothers were sitting, facing a setting sun, hard at work. Jaghatai was bare from waist up, but Konrad, while he shed his coat, was still clad in a light shirt.

The railing in front of them was lined with small sculptures made from rough hewn wood. They had two small stacks of meter-long logs in front of them, and from what she can see, they were busy carving these statues from those logs.

She almost stepped forward to inspect the statues when she noticed something that alarmed her: fresh slashes crisscrossed Jaghatai's chest, lightly bleeding as he worked, the movement of his muscles as he struck with his hatchet keeping the wounds from closing. She immediately hurried forward, breaking the reverie the two men are in, and kneeled next to the White Scars Primarch, her fingers immediately going to the wounds. "Jaghatai!" She exclaimed.

The Khan was startled, but immediately noticed who it was. But Konrad beat him to the punch as he gently pried her sister's hands away from the wounds. Their eyes met for a moment, and Konrad nodded, before leading Serenity away. Jaghatai went back to work.

When they went back inside, away from earshot in an adjoining room, Serenity shrugged Konrad's grip and immediately rounded upon him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing Konrad?" She demanded sharply. "Did he-"

"Yes." Konrad interrupted her in a no-nonsense tone. "He did those himself. I got him to stop, don't worry, but in return, you must leave them be." His voice softened at the stubborn look on his sister's face. "They are a part of his mourning ritual, sister. They have to leave scars. For that, you must leave them be. I think with everything that has been going on, we dropped the ball with him." He added.

Serenity's expression grew horrified as she considered it. She knew how close Jaghatai was to Esin and Amphithoe, and how much he loved his home planet. He was so stoic, and he was away all the time, so they all assumed he was dealing. But he lost so much, he and his legion lost nearly everything they held dear. And with Rogal, Father, Fulgrim's disappearence, Lorgar, and all the confusion going on, the entire Imperium forgot about White Scars and their suffering.

That was understandable. But she forgot about them too. That was unacceptable, unforgivable. She immediately turned back and started to rush towards her grieving brother, but a hand on her slender shoulder stopped her again. "Leave him be, sister. I think among us, Jaghatai is the one who lives his adopted culture the deepest. They believe in grieving privately. He will get through this, and bustling over him would do more harm then good." Konrad said softly.

"But..." Serenity looked back towards the door, back to the balcony where her brother sat grieving. Not doing anything was unthinkable for her. "I can't just..."

"Those statues..." answered Konrad. "He believes he is alone. Those statues are carved to honor the fallen, to be erected next to their graves to represent vanquished foes to escort them to Heaven as a honor guard. He said family and kin carved those. He believes he is alone, sister. He does not think there is anyone who would honor the fallen alongside him. Maybe showing him that his thoughts are false might help."

Serenity thought for a moment, then set her jaw. If that is the way it would be, then she would do the best she can. Jaghatai would know he wasn't alone.

She nodded, then turned and left. Konrad wondered, for a moment, what she planned. But then he shook his head and went back to work next to his brother. Whatever it was, Serenity would do her best to help Jaghatai. He trusted her to know what is best.

{oOo}

AN: Now Serenity enters the fray, another piece by Khuzdul.


	69. The Long Road to Recovery X

{oOo}

Maybe? Maybe.

He wished he didn't have to be plagued by memory. Briefly he became lost in it, in haze and how he had been worn down and...

And Ferrus was here and worried, undoubtedly. Fulgrim was worried too, worried for him and...yes he was worried about himself too.

"Conrad wouldn't let m-me wash up." Thinking about it made his skin crawl and blaze, he wanted it off, now. His voice burnt away for a few seconds. "This is real though, isn't it Ferrus? I don't think she could make you so clear. This is r-really mmy sk-b-body, isn't it?"

Acid. The damn acid—he wanted to say something about that, to make sure it wouldn't happen again, but Fulgrim's next words chased the thought away.

"Yes, yes it is," he said, pushing himself up and this time ignoring the pain completely. "I'm real and you're really here, and I'm never going to fail you like that again."

His words were faster then his thoughts and he spoke without even considering what he was saying. If he would have to admit, it was partially fear that drove him at that moment. The doubt, the fact that Fulgrim wasn't sure what was real, it was terrifying. The certainty that what one saw, heard and felt was real should be a given.

Fulgrim seemed cowed but his sudden vehemence, no, not afraid exactly, just blown back by the strength.

"It doesn't have to be, it might not be. And you are still hurt you," he promised. He glanced around the room quickly, "She's not here though. She's **always** here." So maybe Ferrus real? Or maybe there was another daemon?

He wanted to kill something at that thought, and it gave him strength the way his hate always had, even if it was far far away. "Please, please, lay back down, you're hurting." He was far too aware on Ferrus' pain, something inside of him taking an almost instinctive interest on it. That feeling was far away too, but it made him want to run away instead of fight.

Shakily he asked, "And this is my body. This is the right one?" He didn't know which answer he hoped for. His senses weren't his own, his body wasn't, not even his mind.

{oOo}


	70. The Long Road to Recovery XI

{oOo}

"I am real," Ferrus Manus repeated. Lying down was not an option. He gripped the blanket tighter, trying to stay—well calm was not the word—coherent and not start yelling. He wasn't angry at Fulgrim.

How do you convince somebody that what he was seeing was not an illusion? He had never considered this problem, never thought it might be important. "Yes, this is your body. Please, I…"

It was a staggering realization, but he was afraid. Afraid of his own powerlessness and that Fulgrim was going to feel worse, afraid that he would say the wrong thing, afraid that he'd come too late.

"It's not your fault," that was easier to say even though he couldn't look up and instead scanned the room back and forth moving his whole head. Trying to find flaws. He should try to make Ferrus lay down, but he sort of...enjoyed it. That he was close, and other things. "If you're real, I think you are."

He swallowed thickly, his throat and eyes burned. "The hallways, they were long," almost dizzyingly so, "They weren't...they were painted," that was the only way he could describe how it had been. Sometimes the distances had been very realistic, when he stared into them long enough they morphed and shifted. But usually she had been focused on the other senses, or presented him rooms rather than fields.

"Sshu-she," the rage he felt was there and flared suddenly bright, suddenly normal; he knew there was something wrong with him in comparison, "hasn't been gone long, so I'm not seeing things yet."

"Fulgrim, I killed her," Ferrus Manus said. "And we… you're back. You're out."

He raised his hands as if he wanted to grab Fulgrim's shoulders, but hesitated. Moments ago, Fulgrim flinched at a much briefer physical contact. Holding him like that would probably be worse.

"Is there… is there anything I can do to help you?"

There should be something he could do.

So much of the tension suddenly went out of him, "I killed her plenty of times." His board shoulders rounded on their own weight, hair falling about his face, he reached up and wicked the tears from his eyes.

He swallowed, how to respond? How to be himself? Fulgrim had not been himself in a very long time.

"Yes," he said, mustering all the confidence he could, "You can lay back down."

{oOo}


	71. Imperial Literature IX

{oOo}

One of the more intriguing motives in Imperial literature had arisen after the footage from the Emperor's Children's campaign on the agriworld of Roan. The battles themselves have been impressive, of course, but what really caught the minds of Imperial writers and poets was the final act of one of Chaos' accursed minions.

The common consensus is that witnessing the glory of a son of the Emperor has awoken remorse and piety it in the creature's soul, reminding of the time when it had still worn the pure form of a human. Overcome by such intense guilt and regret, she had thrown herself at the enemies of Mankind, seeing no other way to redeem herself for her treachery.

While some might propose that her words were an expression of simple love for Primarch Fulgrim, it is best to remember that love redeems only in holodramas. (1) Only faith in the Emperor can give one strength to overcome the Great Enemy.

This occurrence has also dispersed most rumors about the return of the Phoenician was a ploy of Chaos, as it is obvious to anyone with a functioning brain that it was his presence that spurned the chaotic fiend to act against her masters. While there had been no other such cases, it should be noted that no deamonette has dared to face Primarch Fulgrim after this incident, which can only be understood as them fearing that the Glory of the Emperor will overpower them in the presence of the Phoencian.

While the Primarch had denied any comments on the incident, it is widely accepted it is only modesty that prevents him from shedding light upon the situation.

{oOo}

(1) The Inquistion reminds that any depiction of acts between loyal Primarchs and servants of Chaos are heretical and will be punished by death.

{oOo}


	72. The New Inquisitor

{oOo}

Cassiopea Ryel was suitably awed at the honor that had been bestowed upon her. Despite her relatively young age and lack of experience, she had been asked to represent the Inquisition in a joint operation with the Emperor's Children. In itself this was not an uncommon occurrence, but it was rare that the Phoenician himself was personally involved.

Another woman might have preened in front of a mirror for hours, but Cassiopea knew better then to waste time on such things. When she entered the bridge of the Firebird—the new flagship of the Emperor's Children—she was dressed in severe black clothes, with only her rosette in a different colour. Her hair was pulled into a braid. Her steps sounded loud to her own ears as she approached the towering form of the Phoenician. He was as impressive as she heard he would be and she didn't even notice when she fell onto one knee.

"My Lord," she said, suddenly wondering what she had intended to say. Her brain seemed to be full of awe and wonder, leaving no place for intelligent thought.

"Inquisitor," Fulgrim nodded at her. "Please rise."

Somehow, her legs obeyed, though she had feared she'd trip.

"You are… Cassiopea, correct?" he asked and she nodded. That was her name. "I've read your report and that of Lord Inquisitor Mohles, but I'd like to hear your summary of the situation, before we start planning."

It took her a few times and what Magos Setag referred to as rebooting ones brain, before she managed to form a coherent sentence.

"My Lord," she said. "As you know, the heretic known as Maghriel has been raising small cults on many planets and leaving them when civil war broke out. My predecessor lost his track a few years ago and I have only recently managed to locate him. It appears he has changed his modus operandi, as instead of leaving once rebellion broke out he remained to lead his pawns against the Imperial government."

She paused, before continuing. "Maghriel is a psyker of some power—estimated to be delta-level, but his capabilities in battle are unknown. He is a follower of Tzeentch, according to our data and as such we expect him to avoid direct combat and instead attempt to use warp sorcery."

Fulgrim nodded and tapped the holoprojector with his armored finger. A display of the planet flickered to life.

{oOo}


	73. Rites III

{oOo}

Leman Russ weighed the log Serenity dropped off along with a hatchet as she passed by, bustling, thinking about what she said.

It was very hard for the Wolf Lord to picture Jaghatai as a grieving man. The steppe warrior was nearly as boisterous and wild as the Fenrisian, even if he was a tad more serious and severe. But him grieving?

Then he thought back to what happened, and put himself in his brother's shoes.

What would he do? If he lost his wolves? If he lost Fenris?

If he lost Thora?

He took the hatchet and began carving. Serenity was right. Jaghatai must know he was not alone. And Leman would stand with his brother, come hell or high water. He deserved no less, nothing less.

And his wolves will be singing in the feasts for the fallen of Chogoris. The noble dead. They deserved it.

{oOo}

Mortarion was puzzled. Rituals for the dead was not something he was used to. Persephone was considering the logs and the hatchet with a small frown on her face.

"He must feel lonely." She concluded.

Mortarion shuddered. For one moment, the thought of losing Persephone shot through him like a bolt of agony. He somberly picked up the hatchet and started carving. Jaghatai deserved no less.

{oOo}

Vulcan looked at the log laying on his workbench. He preferred metal. Wood was fragile, all too easy to destroy.

But Serenity was right. They had dropped the ball when in his case. None of them, not Serenity, nor Leman Russ, probably the Primarch Khan was closest, nor anybody else noticed anything wrong. In hindsight, it was so obvious. They all lost something or other during those nightmarish years. But Jaghatai and his legion lost everything. His closest friend perished over some unnamed chunk of rock out there. The woman he considered said friend's legacy was slain by the hands of a brother. His world was burned by the Legion of another one. (Though considering what Serenity had told him, Jaghatai did not blame Konrad for that. At least that was good news.) They considered themselves wounded. Jaghatai must have been barely holding together.

But no. Not the Khan.

Still, he considered himself alone. That was unacceptable. They were family! He will make sure Jaghatai knew that.

He got to work.

{oOo}

AN: And more from Khuzdul, and slightly larger update for this collection due to being unable to update last week, many apologies for that~


	74. Perfect Ripples II

{oOo}

"I feel scruffy," Fulgrim whispered at Amphithoe.

He knew it wasn't just a feeling: he did look scruffy, compared to the Astartes that were accompanying him. Even after years of improving systems and making them more efficient, resources remained scarce.

The Marines—III Legion they had said—wore purple and gold battle armor, decorated with etchings or engravings at least to some extent. Fulgrim, dressed in utilitarian grey overalls, couldn't even hope to fade into the background, since he was bigger then they were.

"Don't be silly," Amphithoe whispered back. "They'd be awed with you even if you had… um… a pink dancing bird on your head."

There was loud crash as one of the Astartes walked straight into a wall.

"See? Awed," Amphithoe said, nodding to herself.

Fulgrim chuckled. Another Marine suffered a close meeting with a wall.

{oOo}

Bloody Mary Note: And this is how Fulgrim learned he is awesome.


	75. First Impressions

{oOo}

When a new Primarch was found, a lot tended to happen.

Starting with changes in their Legion, reassignments and other administrative matters, through formal introduction on Terra, if possible and ending with meeting his other brothers, a newly found Primarch was swamped with duties from the moment he set his foot on his flagship the first time.

Serenity considered it to be a bit unpleasant, to say the least and therefore usually attempted to at least get her new brother to meet those Primarchs that would be most likely to befriend him first. (Incidentally, this was the reason why Sanguinius was usually among the first to meet most Primarchs.)

Konrad Curze was surprised when his sister summoned him, but he hurried to the coordinates she had specified nonetheless. It seemed rather confusing to him that she'd ask him—he wasn't a people person. Fulgrim would have been a much better choice.

His mentor laughed when he voiced his doubts and merely joked that Serenity would not want to stun their new brother with his good looks. Sometimes he wished Fulgrim's sense of humour would rely less on his ego.

When he arrived, Sanguinius' flagship, the Red Tear was already there, among the XIV Legion's fleet.

{oOo}

Konrad's first impression of his brother was that he needed to eat more. Then a little girl peered at him over Mortarion's and quickly disappeared again. Russ, he recalled, had a daughter—was Mortarion the same?

"She's shy," his bald brother stated, as if Konrad couldn't figure it out on his own.

"I'm creepy," he volunteered.

They watched each other in silence, though Mortarion's lips were twitching as if he was trying to suppress as smile. "I'm creepy too," he said.

It took Konrad a moment to realize that Mortarion was joking and he felt himself smile.

"You're not," the girl peeked out again. "And you're not too."

Konrad stared, while Mortarion patted the girl's head fondly.

{oOo}


	76. Perfect Ripples III

{oOo}

Amphithoe hummed. She was the only person Fulgrim knew who did this. It was pleasant sound, he decided. He'd have to tell her that when he had a moment, whenever that came. It was so hard to find time to do anything else, but work.

"Careful with that!" he called out. "It's old!"

By which he meant it was rusty and could break any moment, but they couldn't exchange it for a newer part. But if he was right, the system wouldn't be necessary soon. However, that would require several changes earlier and they were implementing them now.

She was still humming and Fulgrim was starting to feel an urge to join her.

"Alright, leave that alone!" he yelled instead. "You're done here!"

The other workers scattered, leaving Fulgrim to deal the most complicated part of the job. He knelt down, and started fiddling with the wires, carefully re-attaching them.

After a few seconds, he caught himself humming.

{oOo}

AN: And back to Chemos we go~


	77. Fatherhood I

{oOo}

The Emperor arrived at Fernis during a troubling time. As he entered the halls of King Leman Russ he was greeted with the sight of terrified warriors, quivering behind their own beards. Well, those that weren't cradling empty tankards or sobbing in horror into their drinking horns. This state puzzled him mightily, but he strode to meet the man that could be one of his sons.

He entered the feasting hall only to find it empty save for a toothless crone, cleaning one of the tables. If the Emperor were to be honest, the thing could as well be thrown out. Especially, since somebody managed to embed a very large axe in it.

"WHY IS THERE SO MUCH BLOOD?" a mighty roar echoed through the halls.

The crone rolled her eyes and mumbled, "Back in my days men used to go kill something when their wife went into labour."

The Emperor arched his eyebrows.

"I suppose it's because it's his first child," the crone added conversationally. "You wouldn't guess it, but our King was one those."

She sniffed and the Emperor asked, "Those?"

"Oh, you know," she replied. "The ones who think pregnancy is some kind of illness and the woman has to spend it whole in bed."

The Emperor snickered, as he heard the second roar, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY SON IS A GIRL?"

{oOo}


	78. Fatherhood II

{oOo}

The Emperor had seen many fathers in his long life. It did not take any intellect as vast and mighty as his, and neither was his experience necessary to classify Leman Russ the panicking sort. If he were to put forward a theory, he would assume it was the child's gender that was the important factor. Having been raised in a patriarchal culture, Russ might assume baby girls are somehow inherently frailer than baby boys.

"But what if I drop her?" the mighty warrior king of Fenris asked, sounding more like a frightened puppy.

The midwife and the Emperor exchanged exasperated looks. Them the woman realized just what she did and promptly fainted, leaving it up to the Master of Mankind to show his son how to hold a child. Once the demonstration was over, the Emperor started counting to ten.

Once he reached five, Leman Russ rumbled in an awed tone, "Look at the tiny nails."

Honestly, why did everybody find a baby's nails so marvelous? It was a much bigger surprise if they were missing.

"What are you going to name her?" he asked, peering at the child. It did not look particularly attractive, as most newborns. She was wrinkled and reddish, but on the big side. The Emperor decided to examine her properly when he had a chance.

"Uh…" Leman Russ frowned. "Ithoughtitwasgoingtobeaboy."

Of course. Clearly, his son had only considered male names.

"Ulfhild," the mother stated.

{oOo}


	79. Waiting

{oOo}

The sky was grey. The sky had always been grey, as far as he could remember. Sometimes, it rained. Then the ground would grow soft, squelching under his feet once he went outside. He often had to, ever since his father died. He couldn't do all the things a grown man could, but he tried his best, since his brothers were all too young.

Then the Thin Ones came. They took his mother and youngest brother.

Ajali did the sensible thing—he hid himself and his other siblings, waiting for the Thin Ones to leave. For hours, he sat huddled holding his only sister, not daring to go out. When they finally left their hiding place, their house was a ruin. The animals had been all cruelly slaughtered, their belongings destroyed. The whole village was in a similar state.

The survivors left for one of the cities—Ajali's aunt took his siblings away. His little sister cried when he said good bye.

Ajali remained under the grey sky. So did several other youths; he was youngest among them. They had no plan other than baiting the Thin Ones and maybe killing some of them, or maybe sneaking onto one of their vehicles and saving their families.

But the Thin Ones did not appear again. After a few days, the other boys started leaving.

Ajali waited. He thought.

The Thin Ones came after a week, and the sky was grey. The ground was soft.

Ajali did not wait for them outside. He left surprises. They were simple things, adapted from things used for poaching. Most of them didn't work, but some had been cunning enough to catch some Thin Ones.

There was still too much of them for one boy to take on. They had been too much for adults. Ajali knew that. Still, he did not attempt to run. He waited.

He was calm when they entered his hiding place. He was calm when they noticed him and when they laughed. He was calm when one of them grabbed him and he stabbed him in the eye.

His peace of mind evaporated only when the wall to his side was blasted apart.

The Emperor's Angels came.

{oOo}


	80. Discovery

{oOo}

Brother Sergeant Amporn knew he had no luck. His parents had wanted a daughter, having been blessed with seven sons before he was born and so he ended up with a girl's name. It didn't help it sounded horribly unfortunate in Low Gothic. He suspected his parents were trying to take vengeance on fate.

If that weren't enough he was the one who inherited his mother's features, hair and complexion. As a result, he had always been a freckled girly-looking redhead among dark-haired people. He stood out like a sore thumb.

Becoming a Space Marine fixed the girly-looking part with time, to some extent. There were times when Amporn wondered if he didn't just look like a giant transvestite.

He was also the one who always ended up face in mud, just like now. As he pulled himself up, he found himself staring at a dark-skinned serious boy.

"Can I go with you?" the child asked, sounding eerily serious.

"'scuse me?" Amporn asked, noticing with disquiet that he had just swallowed some mud. "How did you get here, boy?"

"I followed you," the child answered calmly.

Amporn covered his face with his hand, smearing mud all over it. Why had he decided to go without a helmet again?

It figured he'd be the one who got followed by a kid while being sneaky.

{oOo}


	81. A Fathers Surprise

{oOo}

Ulfhild had inherited a lot from her father. Teeth, hair colour, skills in combat and taste in women. Leman Russ found that out when his daughter was only fourteen. He returned to Fenris and, naturally, he started with visiting Ulfhild.

He had been pounced and spent a while mock-wrestling, despite causing several older clan members to feel indignity. While he did agree that girls should not be treated like boys, this did not apply to his daughter, just like keeping women out of battle did not apply to Thora.

"Daddy, I've met somebody I like," Ulfhild confessed, blushing.

Leman Russ frowned, feeling something between pride, horror and nostalgia. She was already having crushes and he was away. He was away and did not know who it was? What if it was some undesirable glory hound?

"Who's he?" he growled.

Ulfhild pouted, "Her name is Gudrun. I saved her from a wolf."

Leman Russ blinked, his mind trying to catch up. After a moment, he managed weakly, "So, you're the man?"

{oOo}

AN: Poor Leman, his brain was not prepaired for that was it?


	82. Forgiveness and Atonement

{oOo}

When he finally found the courage to move out of his room, Fulgrim started wandering the halls of the palace Sanguinius kept on Terra aimlessly when the room started to feel stifling, trying to cope with the memories and find some peace among the beautiful architecture.

However, today, those wanderings brought him to the last person he wanted to see: The brother he... no the demon hurt the deepest.

Ferrus, Konrad and Sanguinius tried to shelter him, but without their knowledge, he managed to get into the datafiles of the palace and look around. It was there he learned just what everyone else lost. And despite not being very close, he knew how Jaghatai felt about Amphithoe.

And now, the man was in one of the meeting rooms, sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, fiddling with a strange instrument the Phoenician never saw before. The triple-string, long necked, small wooden instrument looked positively tiny in the large hands of the White Scars primarch, and the string made an unfamiliar, hollow ringing sound as his fingers danced over it. His eyes were directed towards the exquisitive carvings on the ceiling.

As Fulgrim turned to leave, a pit opening in his stomach, the dark eyes he was afraid of lowered to catch his own. Fulgrim did not know how to feel when he noticed the look. It was not accusing, angry or even pitying. It was strangely understanding.

"Come." The Khan called out, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Sit with me, brother." That word. Fulgrim almost flinched when he heard how warm that word sounded, but he did not dare disobey. He stepped hesitantly forward, and kneeled on the ground next to the large warrior.

"Jaghatai, I am, I heard, just..." His hesitant rambling was cut short when a heavy hand softly landed on his shoulder. Jaghatai's eyes sought his and lingered for some moments, then he gently squeezed his shoulder. His eyes then lowered, and his fingers went back to their fiddling with the instrument.

After a few moments, Khan spoke softly. "I don't know how demons or those mind games work, brother. That's more the territory of Magnus. I don't get it, not do I intend to. But I know other things."

"There was a tribe on my home planet." He went on. "Known as the Djungar. They were a vile host, murderous and bloodthirsty. You see, slavery was a fact of life on my world. Not pleasant, but the truth. But Djungar went a step further with their slaves."

The Primarch, at this point, gave a full body shudder, as if even imagining it was horrifying. "They wrapped strips of thick, fresh leather around the heads of their slaves, then tied them up and left them under the steppe sun for several days. As the leather dried and constricted, it squeezed the head like a vice. Also, the hair, without any way to grow out, would grow inwards, inflicting horrible pain."

Jaghatai breathed deeply. Fulgrim felt nauseous. The Khan went on. "The ones that do survive this, remembered nothing of their past lives. They were called Mankurt. They were perfect slaves, obedient and unquestioning. Yet no one hated them. We pitied them, for everything they were, their souls were cut out of them with a knife of pain, and we mourned them. We definitely did not blame them, nor their families, for what they did."

His eyes once again looked up and focused on his brother's face. "If I correctly understand what Ferrus and Konrad were talking about, then you were not that thing, Fulgrim. That was Mankurt. You are not that thing, and you are not responsible for what that thing did."

Fulgrim relaxed. He almost opened his mouth to say something, when the same hand that squeezed his shoulder moments before landed once again, and this time the squeeze was punishing, clawlike.

"But you are responsible for getting caught by that thing." Jaghatai's voice was sharp now. "You were dumb, brother. If you have to atone for anything, that's what you should atone for. And I believe your suffering was atonement enough." He loosened his grip, and pushed off the Phoenician's shoulder to stand up. "Just make sure that doesn't happen again, brother. Or I will kill you." He turned to leave, but stopped short. "I like making these things, but I never managed to play one. Maybe you will have more luck with is called a kopuz. I'll send some recordings to help you figure it out." He hesitated for a moment. "Esin loved it." He laid the instrument on the table and walked out of the room.

Fulgrim breathed deeply for a moment, then rose and picked up the instrument, his eyes never leaving the door.

{oOo}

AN: And some Jaghatai from Khuzdul~


	83. Visions in Red III

{oOo}

_The Construction of the Imperial Creed_

{oOo}

Magnus the Red had some knowledge of theology. Well, to tell the truth, he had some knowledge about a lot of things. He probably knew how to fix a harvester, though he hadn't seen one up close in his life.

The cult that sprung about his Father and Sister was not exactly a surprise. It made sense, in a way, though given where it came from it wasn't gaining as much foothold as it could have, had its origin not been known.

Many believed that anything Lorgar had touched was tainted. Magnus did not believe that, but he knew this particular idea needed to be treated with care. In spite of its source, despite how badly he wanted to wring necks whenever he heard it, the cult's members had proven to be surprisingly resistant to Chaos.

Ira sat next to him, carefully studying the pamphlet. Her brow was creased in a frown, as she read on. Then she put it down, reaching for a pen. Magnus felt a moment of almost instinctive annoyance. It was just a stupid book, but he couldn't help not to think that writing on one was bad.

"I'll start with things that need to be reworked," she said. "Try to find ones you think should be changed or removed, then we compare."

Magnus nodded, and took a pen for himself. His personal dislike for damaging books could be ignored for now. It was much more important that Lorgar's work caused as little harm as possible, and all the good that could be gained from it was extracted as soon as possible.

{oOo}


	84. The Imperial Creed

{oOo}

The Emperor protects.

Through his armies and his war machines he shields our homes and possessions from harm. Through his wisdom, through his servants he shields our minds from things they are not meant to know. With his mind he shields our souls from corruption.

Venerate the Immortal Emperor for his our Shield and Protector.

The Princess protects.

Through her warriors and her powers she shields our homes and possessions from harm. Through her wisdom she shields our minds from the things they are not meant to learn. With her soul she cleanses us from corruption.

Venerate the Imperial Princess for she is our Fount of Healing.

{oOo}


	85. Bet

{oOo}

Certain situations have a tendency to spiral out of control. Leman Russ had no idea to what his bragging that he can drink more than any of his brothers will lead to. That Angron leapt at the bet was to expected, as was the Lion's sarcastic claim Russ was all talk. He was surprised though when Magnus rose to the challenge.

Then each and every of his brothers started claiming they could keep up with him, even Roboute and Dorn, despite being the most uptight of the lot. Thora gave him a look, but he didn't think he was exactly to blame. He hadn't expected all of them to want to be a part of the bet.

By now, Fulgrim and Curze were both passed out, leaning against each other. Ferrus Manus was declaring brotherly love to Perturabo, who was doing the same. It was actually rather creepy. Sanguinius and Angron were singing. Apparently, large quantities of alcohol improved Angron's singing voice and removed whatever grudge against singing Sanguinius had.

Corax was almost dozing off, while Jagathai Khan was trying to unsuccessfully start a fight with Roboute Guilliman. Guilliman, on his part, was in the middle of a convoluted and slurred anecdote. Rogal Dorn and Vulkan were telling each other very stupid jokes, most of them unfinished, because they were both laughing like idiots.

Magnus was glaring at Russ, who appeared smug. He rose wobbly to his feet and announced, "You all loosh."

"I thought the winner was the one who stayed sober longest?" a quiet voice queried. A quiet, certain voice. Russ glared in its direction, noting it came from Mortarion. In front of him, there was a row of empty tankards as long as Russ' own.

"Wha?" he slurred trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

"I'm not drunk," Mortarion replied sounding somewhat puzzled. "I didn't think you all would have such weak heads."

Leman Russ slumped in his chair and started sobbing into his hands. This was the worst feast of his life.

{oOo}


	86. The Imperial Family Says

{oOo}

_Imperial Family Says…_ is considered to be one of Tekhne's and Perturabo's most famous strokes of genius that was not related to medicine, technology or warfare. The merchandise started as an illustrated information booklet for children, containing basic information about the structure of the Imperium. Its copies were provided to schools on newly compliant worlds by the Iron Warriors as a part of the integration process into the Imperium.

The idea quickly caught on with the other Expedition Fleets, and predictably soon enough new booklets and leaflets were being printed. The first booklet was re-worked to have the Emperor himself explain the workings of the Imperium, instead of Tekhne and Perturabo. The original copies are still coveted collector items.

Soon enough a series of short cartoons had been created. The episodes usually covered one issue. Usually, a child was in trouble, or it disagreed with Imperial policy, or in some cases engaged in risky activities. After the situation was presented, a Primarch or Senshi would appear to either chide or instruct the child on behaviour proper for Imperial citizens and the conflict would be resolved. The issues covered by the series varied widely, from instruction on safe usage of electronic devices to warnings about cults.

One of the consistent favourites of the Imperial audience is Angron Says No to Kiddnapings, wherein the World Eater's Primarch (in animated form) demonstrates how to avoid being kiddnaped. Another is gem is the episode where Primarch Mortarion explains the benefits of a balanced diet. Finally, there is Konrad Curze and Corax Say Be Visable, where the two Primarchs how to remain visible when crossing the road.

Booklets and leaflets continued being created in a format similar to the original one. Most remain indispensible educational aids in primary schooling, as they contain simple explanations of the workings of many Imperial organizations and policies.

Among other interesting parts of the merchandise are several board and electronic games, all created for educational purposes.

Unsurprisingly, 'Imperial Family Says…' remains popular to this day, though some viewers claim that episodes created after the Age of Heresy lack the charm of the older ones.

{oOo}


	87. Imperial Literature X

{oOo}

Primarch Fulgrim has always been a favourite of unwed (and sometimes married) Imperial women (and certain men), along with Primarch Sanguinius. His lack of relationships obviously led to much speculation, most of it quite unwelcome by the Imperial Family and any thinking citizen.

However, the situation changed when a young Inquisitor of Ordo Malleus began her cooperation with the Emperor's Children. Berylium of House Heliodor, much like her mentor, was quick to catch the attention of the Primarch with her uncompromising opposition to Chaos and staggering successes (1).

Their first public appearance had inflamed the imaginations and subsequent ones have only kept the public interest aflame. As with most Primarchs, the Phoenician avoids any comments and Berylium remains elusive, most likely too busy with her duties to satiate the curiosity of Imperial citizens.

Nevertheless, several works of varying quality have been created, the most famous being the inventively-titled "Crystal Phoenix" by Gabriella Denar. (2) As can be surmised from the title, we are dealing with a work of not the highest quality and as such Inquisitor Berylium is reduced to a weeping damsel. The whole work is filled with Primarch Fulgrim saving her from danger and lurid sexual scenes. (3)

A work that is generally agreed to be more realistic, is the "Sky of Gold" a highly metaphorical love poem by Comtessa de Juarez (4). Despite its allegorical nature, the poem is considered widely to be among most interesting Imperial writings.

A rather intriguing take is the "Taming of the Phoenix" by Jodite Notte. Despite its title, it is a role reversal, which presents Primarch Fulgrim as the damaged partner in the relationship and Inquisitor Berylium as the decisive one. (5)

Finally, there is the widely-acclaimed play "Dancing with the Flames" by Margot Margot Gerwyld. It is considered to be an interesting and avant-garde work, which draws quite a lot of inspiration from other acclaimed Imperial romance, mostly poetry. The heavy reliance on allegory has been criticized by some, but attending a staging is nevertheless heavily recommended.

{oOo}

(1) Which, unfortunately, remain a mystery to most Imperial citizens as they are classified. Based on rumor and accounts of eye-witnesses, we can safely assume that she is indeed formidable.

(2) Isabella Monje has apparently given up on this one. For additional information, please consult the book itself.

(3) Incidentally, the fact that Ms Denar had suffered through three break-ins that ended in acts of vandalism (such as writing "YOU ARE A BAD AUTHOR!" on all walls) and suffered a fatal heart attack has nothing to do with Inquisitor Berylium, her retinue , Primarch Fulgrim or the Emperor's Children.

(4) For an in-depth commentary, I recommend perusing "Imperial Love Poetry Vol. MDCLXVIII".

(5) There is no evidence suggesting that Ancient Tarvitz falling on her was anything but an unfortunate accident.

{oOo}


	88. Gate of the Forest III

{oOo}

_Issue of Trust_

{oOo}

Alta was ever the silent one. The other Senshi attracted most attention, be it with exuberant personalities, visible relationships or sheer charm. Alta remained in the background. She didn't mind this state of affairs; it was not in her nature to draw attention to herself.

That, however, did not mean she would let others simply disregard her.

"You will talk with my brother," she said, jabbing her finger into the Lion's armored stomach.

The Lion reeled. _"He betrayed me!"_

Alta glared at him, not cowed by his size or power at all. She may have not grown up with him, she may not have been as close to him as some of her sisters were to other Primarchs, but she wasn't going to let this stand.

"He did not," she growled. "You said it yourself—it was a moment of weakness. Have you ever considered how he feels?"

The Lion shook his head angrily. "He thought about killing me! I trusted him."

Alta wondered how come some things could end up in such a mess. She was quite sure her brother did love Jonson (in a totally manly way), but then… What in the world was going on?

"Sit down," she said firmly.

The Lion obeyed. He hung his head, long hair obscuring his face, shoulders slumping in resignation.

"Who can I trust, if I can't trust Luther?" he asked after a moment, his voice tired and low. "If Luther wanted to kill me, how can I trust anybody else?"

Alta carefully brushed some of his face away, easily slipping into the role of an older sister. "You can trust me, to start with."

{oOo}


	89. Aid and Reason

{oOo}

_'Fulgrim? Why would a daemonette…?'_ Tekhne frowned considering the problem. Ah, yes. Ferrus Manus had explained that the painting Fulgrim's soul had been trapped in had been guarded by some crazy daemonette. Tekhne had found the whole situation a sloppily-planned mess, except the very beginning. Her conclusion was that a different person planned the capture of Fulgrim and another, what came afterwards.

Still, it appeared that this particular daemonette had found a way to spy on Fulgrim—really, talk about bad luck. Fulgrim was the last person that needed a supernatural stalker.

Before she got too badly side-tracked, Tekhne focused on the significant part of the problem. The daemonette had so managed to appear several times in front of different people, but always when Fulgrim was feeling worse. This trend led Tekhne to believe she needed to check on the Primarch of the Emperor's Children.

She picked up her gun and ran towards the appropriate wing of the Extreme Prejudice.

It took her about half an hour to locate Fulgrim, who was in one of the training cages. If Tekhne had been forced to make an educated guess, she would have said he spent several days there already.

"Ah, Fulgrim?" she asked politely, watching as a training servitor nearly stabbed Fulgrim in the stomach. "Please turn it off, I wish to talk with you."

Fulgrim did as asked and was nice enough to stand at a distance from her. Primarch or not, he did sweat during physical exertion.

"How long have you been training?" Tekhne inquired, observing his breathing was not slowing down as quickly as it should, which reinforced her theory about the length of his exercise.

"A few days," Fulgrim replied, not meeting her eyes. The sign of nervousness let her suspect it had been mere enthusiasm.

"Have you rested?" she asked. Once no reply came forth, Tekhne added: "You appear worn out."

"I'm- I need to train!" Fulgrim snapped. "I've been out of combat so long; don't you see how out of practice I am? I'm going to be an utter liability for e-everyone!"

Ah. This was one of the moments when Mr. Cold Logic was not a friend, as Serenity had once told Perturabo. "Fulgrim, you're tired and that's why you're moving slower. You need to rest now."

"I'm not that tired," Fulgrim protested, but he was again not meeting her eyes.

"Fulgrim," Tekhne said stepping closer to him and placing her hand on his. "Please, you'll hurt yourself like this."

She looked up at him and smiled: "Besides, I'll need some help with some medical texts, so you can do that while you rest."

{oOo}

AN: Continuation of drakensis' _'Two Women, Angron and a Shower'_, set just after the 'The Long Road to Recovery' arc, but before Fulgrim is under Sanguinius' care on Terra.


	90. Friends

{oOo}

Not many children got to have the run of an entire hemisphere of a planet, but Serenity did. There were places where she wasn't allowed to go, the boys' rooms and some dangerous spots. While dangerous sounded new and exciting, Serenity was like most children: supremely confident of her own immortality and skill, however she was very soft hearted and couldn't stand the thought of others hurting or in danger. Thus her father had learned a trick for dealing with his daughter-the places weren't just dangerous for her, other people might get hurt.

So there were limits to her explorations, the most vital being that she could not run the length of her home. A full exploration would come in future years when she discovered heavily-sugared and caffeinated drinks and thus figured out how to fly.

This, however, did not mean that she did not go hiking. Far from it, she took long walks, leaving her tutors and nannies in a state of horrified agitation when they couldn't find her. She did make sure not to go to the forbidden places, so that nobody would get hurt.

Then, one day she stumbled on the door. It was white and ornate, and she was quite certain it shouldn't be there. She wondered what could be behind it, hesitant and yet full of expectations. Then she pushed the door open and stepped through it.

It was dark and...Oh, those were stars like in the pictures and maps? She had never seen any "for real," because the night sky was a dark twilight, the stars outshone by humanity's might.

There was also a pretty lady staring at her. Serenity had no fear of adults, because this was her home and everyone worked for her Daddy. Her expression was like her guards looked like when she snuck passed them and said hello. Oh! "Hello!" Her manners, she curtsied in her pink and white play dress.

"Welcome," the woman replied, watching her with a mix of amusement and confusion on her dark-skinned face. "Who might you be?"

She knelt down to come face to face with Serenity, and the little princess could not help but notice that the lady had reddish eyes. Her hair had appeared black at first to her, but now she could tell it was dark green.

"Serenity," she replied smiling at the lady. "And who are you?"

"I am Pluto, little Serenity." Serenity? That hair? Yes it was the dead Queen's daughter, there could be no doubt. "It is an honor to meet you, but, whatever are you doing at my door?"

"Exploring," Serenity replied cheerfully. "What is this place?"

It looked funny, like it was outside, but they had to be inside, since they were very far away from any entrance to the Palace.

Pluto fell silent, for a while, considering her answer. The little girl was clearly the Moon Princess and therefore had all the rights to expect an answer from one of her Senshi. Yet…

Was Silver Millennium not destroyed?

Uranus, Neptune, they had come to her because she could not leave, their items resonating. They bore news of the kingdom's fall, and back into real time they bore the coming of the Senshi of Silence.

"It's my door, I guard it." Simple truths for the child. She was sweet.

Serenity considered the answer. It somehow didn't seem satisfactory, as if it was missing something. After a moment, she decided she knew what was wrong.

"Where does it go to?"

Clearly, a door had to lead somewhere.

She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling oddly-how long had it been since she smiled? "Anywhere. But I am not permitted to let anyone pass through it to another place, not even you, child."

"Why not?"

Serenity, like all children, was curious. She needed to learn about life, about people, about herself and the easiest path to finding the right answers was to ask. So, ask she did.

It was not an easy question to answer. Pluto measured her words, trying to find an explanation that would be both easy to grasp and satisfying.

"If anyone goes through the door, they might change things that should happen," she said.

"And if they go through without permission then they could become lost forever."

"Why make a door like that then?" Serenity asked. It seemed really dangerous and if nobody could go through, it didn't make sense for the door to even be there.

She grinned in response at the words that came a moment later, and impulsively embraced Pluto.

She folded the little girl into her arms, feeling wonderfully warm inside and outside. "So the way could be closed." So there would be a path. Because it had always been there. Temporal physics were hard to explain to normal people, let alone a child.

"Oh," Serenity replied, nodding to herself. So the door wasn't there to be opened, but to close a way. "Isn't it boring?"

"And lonely." What was she doing confiding into a little girl like this? But...she was the fourth person Pluto ever had to confide in. She pet the girl's golden hair.

"When do you get off shift, Pluto?" Serenity knew all about shifts and duty, insomuch as a little girl could. The Custodes promised to play with her when they got off shift. Which meant that they stopped working and someone else who hadn't been working started doing that job.

Of course, her guards were the best, they played with her when they were on duty, unless they had to stand at doors and watch stuff and when off duty, except for when they had to sleep and do adult things and other stuffs.

Her guards probably had lessons, maybe even in maths. And no Daddy to teach them.

"I do not get off shift, Princess," Pluto replied sounding puzzled. How did such a little girl come to understand this concept? She was a princess, surely she would not come into contact with people who worked in shifts? "I am forbidden from ever leaving this door. Your mother herself gave me this order."

"Pluto doesn't get to play? You knew my Mommy?" Daddy had told her about Mommy-which was funny because Daddy said the memories were hers, so Daddy was telling her what she already knew but didn't know. "Daddy told me about Mommy, he says she was a strong brave lady and that when I grow up and have more 'sponsibilities that I'll be as strong and brave and beautiful as Mommy was, even though I'm little now."

She stepped out of of Pluto's arms and looked around at the door and pretty stars and...Pluto never left? There was no place to hide things. There weren't even any dataslates! "I'll stay with you Pluto, and, and when I go home I'll bring you back games and dataslates. Then we can play even when you're on shift." If Pluto said yes that meant that Pluto was her guard. Why didn't Daddy tell her about Pluto? Daddy must have an important reason, and Pluto had an important job...Serenity knew she was 'distracting' sooo..."We'll keep it a secret from Daddy," just like all her best spots for hide and go seek.

"I knew your mother," Pluto said. "Not your father, though. Tell me princess, how is he coping without his queen?"

And how did he even survive the fall of the Moon Kingdom? It puzzled Pluto, but she smiled at Serenity nevertheless. "I'd like that—and we can keep it secret."

After all, she did not owe any information to the Queen's consort.

Big blue eyes blinked up at her. "Daddy never met Mommy. Daddy never had an Empress. He found me and looked into my past life. He says when I'm older I'll be able to to see my memories and Mommy for myself. He says that Mommy saw that everyone was dying and that, uhm." She frowned and scowled trying to find the words. "Daddy said that Mommy knew that someone was coming to clean everything up so people didn't suffer or dies slowly. But she wanted everyone to be okay, so she made sure every, every one and everyone got reincarnated. But it got smashed and peoples got lost and Daddy found me." She nodded firmly, satisfied that she explained it all.

Pluto blinked. That explained some things, mostly how come the royal consort survived. He didn't. It was a completely different person, able to see into the past, it seemed. Pluto wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"Can you tell me about your Daddy, then?" she asked.

"He's really really big and shiny, and nice and smart and busy. He's trying to unite humanity so we don't get killed by other people."

That… did not explain much. The Princess was clearly fond of him, though.

"I think you should go now, Princess," she said gently. "I'm sure your Daddy is starting to worry about you. You can visit me later—maybe tomorrow?"

"Later today! After lessons. Daddy's teaching me maths today! I'll bring you dataslates."

Pluto smiled again, and opened the door for the girl so she could go home.

"Byebye," she waved as she hopped out the door. It was certainly lunch time, so the little Princess tromped out of the room to the upper levels for her meal.

{oOo}

AN: Collab by Mary and Nemi.


	91. Winter

{oOo}

The snow was blindingly white, reflecting sunlight into the eyes of all outside. Ulfhild stood outside, unmoving like a statue of a valkyrie from legends of old. She felt the wind hit her face, its icy coldness trying to force her inside. She did not budge.

Father and Mother were coming back today and she would welcome them properly. They were so rarely home, now that she was an adult and could run things for them. She remembered the day Father had announced that.

Some of his vassals had protested loudly at the idea of a young woman taking over, but that was the easiest problem to deal with. Father had been unwilling to let her, but in the end he agreed to let her challenge each and every of them, one after another.

She wondered if it was cheating: she wasn't exactly like her Father, but she was close. They were all good warriors, but they couldn't win with somebody who can shrug of being hit by a hammer.

Others were smug, clearly expecting to be able to manipulate them. They were not as easily convinced they were in the wrong, but in the end they learned too. It did not stop the snakes from plotting, of course, but then they had plotted when Father had been clearly in charge.

Yet, she still wished he'd be there more often. She wished Mother would be more present.

They had their duties and she had hers. There was a saying, her Grandfather had quoted it once. _If wishes were fishes, we'd be all casting nets._

She smiled to herself, looking up as her ears picked up a new sound through the howling of the wind. A Thunderhawk would be landing soon.

{oOo}


	92. Passing of a Vision

{oOo}

Tekhne remembered the moment vividly. She was walking towards her labs, to work on some project and other, what, did not matter now. Perturabo was off somewhere, she did not remember where. It was an administrative aide that found her, with a dataslate in hand. He was a young man, barely twenty, just out of a Schola. He looked more than a little awed, as he handed, with a hand shaking barely controlled with willpower, evident from his voice.

"My Lady, this just arrived. It is from Gothic Fleet Command, Gethsemene."

She took the dataslate gently, with a smile, but a small furrow of confusion in her brow. Why would Gothic Fleet command contact her? She knew a major Chaos incursion was ongoing, but it would make more sense to contact Perturabo, after all, she hardly dealt with the purely military side of things. _'Maybe they need assistance on some tech used by the Dark Mechanicus?'_ she thought. After all, Chaos just fielded a big new ship rumored to be able to destroy a planet.

She pressed the button to activate the dataslate. What met her eyes was not what she expected.

_From: Helena Penthesilea_

_To: Lady Tekhne of Olympia_

_My Lady;_

_It is my sad duty to inform you of the noble sacrifice of Ark Mechanicus Vision of Mercury. During the engagement between the traitor forces and Imperial battlefleet over the planet Gethsemene, Ark Mechanicus, in a supreme act of sacrifice, rammed the Chaos warship known as the Planet Killer and initiated a warp engine breach to prevent the destruction of Gethsemene. Alas, I have to inform you that the Chaos warship, due to its immense size, survived the impact and the subsequent warp engine breach of the Ark Mechanicus, but was crippled. Chaos battleships managed to screen and tow away the vessel before my outnumbered and damaged fleet can intercept and finish the noble work Vision of Mercury started, and for that, I offer my sincere apologies, my resignation, and place myself at your mercy to punish as you see fit. On the other hand, their sacrifice was not in vain, as my Mechanicus representative Magos Telamonian assured me that the planet destroying Chaos weapon has been irreperably destroyed, and the vessel would need an extensive refit to become spaceworthy again. Also, their crippling blow to the traitor flagship allowed us to turn back the tide and drive them back to Warp._

_Archmagos Pylaemenes, commander of the Vision of Mercury, sent this message to me before he gave his last order, asking me to pass it along to you. Here I present it, with my sincere condolences._

_Your obedient servant;_

_Helena Penthesilea; former Lord Admiral; former CO, Battlefleet Gothic_

Tekhne almost dropped the dataslate, as the news struck. Her eyes squeezed shut in grief, for a moment, then she took a deep breath. "Please ask Lord Perturabo if he can see me at his earliest convenience." She said in a wavering voice, then turned, and with hurried steps, walked towards the chambers she shared with her husband.

The aide, recognising her grief, knew what he needed to do. Damn earliest convenience, he needed to find Perturabo and get him to his wife, _now._

He rushed away like the Bloodhounds of Khorne were at his heels.

{oOo}

Perturabo was quite worried by the time he got to the apartments he shared with his wife. The Administratum adept was almost hyperventilating by the time he got to him, and he had to wait for the man to calm down before he could have gotten him to talk. (Of course, being subject to a Primarch's irate and impatient glare did not help with the situation.) Finally, he learned that Tekhne got some message from Gothic Sector fleet command and from what he can get out of the poor adept (who was left in the verge of a nervous breakdown by the Primarch's grilling) was that she reacted with severe grief. Perturabo's thoughts were all over the place with speculations while he rushed. 'Okay, there is a war going on, who hangs around there? Angron, Jaghatai, Ira, Magnus, damn, half of the family is either there or somewhere near. But if something happened to them, there would be a lot more noise. Then it is not one of the family that got her in a right state. It must be one of those Mechanicus kids she keeps around. Now which one of those was there? Damn.' He opened the door to a scene he expected.

Tekhne was on the couch, a stricken expression on her face. She was still looking at the dataslate in her hands. Perturabo silently approached his wife, and sat next to her, putting his arm around her slender shoulders, dwarfing her slight frame. Tekhne, without blinking, handed him the dataslate.

Perturabo's frown deepened as he read the message the (former) Admiral sent. Foolish woman, but noble indeed. Well, he could deal with her once she got here. Then the names finally registered.

'Pylaemenes. Damn. Damn that kid for going and doing something stupid. I knew I should have beaten that damn self sacrificing nobility out of him.'

"He's dead." Tekhne spoke finally, her voice almost a whisper. "My boy is dead."

Perturabo didn't speak, just held Tekhne closer to his side, and furiously swiped off the tear that escaped his eye. Anastas Pylaemenes certainly wasn't the only bright young orphan that grew up under the care of the Royal Couple of Olympia, nor the first one to die, but he was one of the brightest stars, and one of Tekhne's favorites.

Damn, who was he trying to fool, he liked the damn kid too.

Perturabo and Tekhne embraced each other tightly as they mourned the son maybe not of their blood, but certainly of their hearts.

{oOo}

AN: And another piece from Khuzdul, set a good few centuries (if not more) before the Thirteenth Black Crusade.


	93. The Unveiled Helping Hand

{oOo}

Fulgrim twitched lightly from where he sat on bed, at the knock on the door of his chambers in Sanguinius' manor, "A-ah, come in?" he responded a trifle uncertainly.

Said door swung open to admit the imposing flaming-haired figure of his brother, Magnus, who paused for a moment looking unusually awkward, before he strode forward and drew Fulgrim into a rough embrace.

"I am glad you are back with us, brother," he uttered gruffly after a few bewildering moments as he released Fulgrim.

"You're…welcome?" Fulgrim answered still uncertain.

The one-eyed Primarch gave him a penetrating look in response, noting the bags under Fulgrim's eyes and haunted gaze, before nodding firmly, "I have somebody I would you like to meet, if you wish?" he queried.

His pale brother blinked in mounting confusion, "…Yes?"

Magnus turned his head marginally toward the door, "Amunet," he requested, as the bolt in the door 'clinked' as the handle was turned and the door push gently open, letting a second red haired figure that Fulgrim stared at, his mouth open in surprise.

Dusky lips quirked up into a crooked smile as intensely familiar violet eyes twinkled, "Hello, Uncle."

Fulgrim continued to stare, apparently struck dumb at Amunet's non sequitur, she then turned to her father and noted mildly, "I think we just made his brain fall out."

Magnus restrained an exasperated sigh, "No, I believe it was mostly you," he returned dryly earning a pouty look from his daughter. He looked back at still perplexed Fulgrim, "Yes?" he prompted.

Fulgrim blinked and gathered himself, "I, ah, didn't expect you and Ira to have children?" he offered.

Magnus coughed sheepishly, "Ira and I did take a while to settle down," while his lithe daughter sniggered in the background.

"Don't laugh at your father," he chided automatically mid-sentence, to which she only rolled her eyes, "… The last two centuries notwithstanding," he continued grimly and Amunet stopped, sobering quickly, "so we both decided it was best to delay until the bulk of it was over, as did Tekhne and Perturabo."

Fulgrim nodded the haunted look in his eyes deepening, causing a frown to shape on Amunet's face.

"It's over now," she stated firmly, "you just need to get better, with our help," she smiled with bright confidence.

This statement earned a startled, and almost shy look from the silver haired Primarch.

Magnus nodded approvingly, "As my daughter says," that appellation is full of pride, making said daughter blush faintly, "We will do all we can to help you to recover, and she as offered to aid you in the place of that…medication," his mouth flattened at that word, his feelings all the more obvious for their unvoiced state, "She is skilled in soothing mental pain in others."

"I-if she wants to," answered Fulgrim though it was tainted with worry at what was laying in wait in his mind.

Amunet flicked his forehead, making him twitch and lift his hand to his head, "Silly Uncle," her eyes glittered mischievously, "I'm a big girl, I can protect myself, _and _help you, no problem."

{oOo}

AN: And a piece from me (Nico), set within a decade or so of Fulgrim's rescue.


	94. Politics

{oOo}

Amporn had not been surprised when he and his Brothers were called to help with a Tau occupation, unlike many others. He knew that the aliens seemed to good to be true when the Warp storms around their native system cleared. So reasonable, so technologically advanced, they seemed like a very pleasant change from Orks and Dark Eldar.

While Amporn was by no means a politician, he was aware that allies like the Tau would be most welcome. First, there had been Farsight and his enclaves. The Imperium had welcomed the dissenters with open arms and along them their technology and workforce. Still the news of how Ethereals apparently controlled the Tau population came as a nasty shock.

Then came Malbrede. The Ultramarines were still sore after the campaign.

No, Amporn was not surprised when his Brothers were mobilized to protect loyal Imperial citizens from the Tau.

The planetary governor of Jeong found himself not pleased with the Imperial rule. Oppressed even, he had claimed. The Tau were the noble saviors of his people, he had ascertained, as he announced secession from the Imperium.

The head of the Arbites had managed to send a communiqué to the Administratum for the sector, before being assassinated. The Raven Guard, along with several Imperial Guard units, were sent out in response to ascertain Imperial rule in the system.

When they arrived the situation was bleak for the loyal populace. Naturally, when the switch of allegiance was made known a guerrilla was formed, a decision that in retrospect seemed not entirely wise.

Amporn watched the area with an uncharacteristic expression of disgust on his usually melancholic face. The area was surrounded by two fences, the spot between them patrolled by several Krootox. Inside there were neatly organized barracks and people. Exhausted humans in identical grey overalls, with shaved heads.

The smell of despair was thick in the air.

"Ajali, ready," he heard the inner vox of his helmet.

"Kiet, in position," another voice sounded.

Soon enough Niran and Kamol confirmed their positions as well.

"Wait," Amporn sub vocalized.

One of the blue xenoes—one in white robes and not in armor—left an administrative building. It remained shielded by the prisoners, until it reached a podium. As it mounted the steps, other xenos herded the people towards it. The creature in the white robe stopped in front of the mass, clearly preparing to start talking.

Amporn took aim, and whispered, "Fire at will."

It had been planned beforehand—his bullet caught the white-robbed xeno in the cranium, while the scouts shot at the guards. Even before the five bodies fell, the roar of jump-packs could be heard as a squad of Assault Marines activated them and headed to protect the political prisoners from the remaining Tau.

The scouts kept picking their targets, while the humans and Tau panicked.

{oOo}


	95. Red and Blue

{oOo}

Imperial cities created after the Age of Heresy tend to have certain similarities, unless the climate prevents them. They are usually built following a similar design, with the central point being a large plaza. It's usually surrounded by the a Chapel of the Ecclesiarchy, a seat of the Administratum and the seat of the Arbites. In the middle, usually, there are two statues, one of the Emperor, the other of the Princess.

Depending on the sector, other statues may be erected though usually no more then two, commonly those of Primarchs or Senshi, though a few heroes have been rewarded with such an honour. The main plaza of the city was usually simply decorative, rarely used for any other purpose then simply venerating the greatness of the human spirit and the Imperial Family.

Magos Keisha looked up at the statue of Lady Tekhne her bionic eyes measuring the proportions. Her blue robe swayed in the wind, exposing utilitarian black boots from time to time. Like most Mercurians, she eschewed bulky prosthetics, instead choosing to keep a mostly human form, despite being heavily augmented.

After a moment, she whipped out a sketchbook and a pen, to carefully copy the statue there, along with a series of equations along the side. She ignored the people behind her and the occasional flash of a pict being taken.

Finally satisfied she eyed the clock-tower of the chapel. It was still fairly early she decided. Her duty done, she could waste some time in the nearest café. Hopefully, none of those bothersome red-boys would catch her. The last time she visited a particularly obnoxious one found her and spent half an hour ranting at her.

What kind of a person did not like chocolate?

Oh, of course, machines were much, much better, but surely they would not grow jealous of chocolate mousse? For a while, she thought it had been some odd way of flirting, but she dismissed the thought. The man was adult, surely he could not be still stuck in the braid-pulling phase.

She nearly groaned when she saw the very same Adept in front of her favourite café, the only thing preventing her from doing it being the thought of appearing too emotional in the eyes of that mechanical twit. And she was blushing because she was angry, not for any other reason.

Though, come to think of it, why was he blushing too?

"It occurred to me that my behaviour was… reproachable the last time we've met," the Adept said, pulling at the sleeve of his robe. "I believe I owe you an apology—perhaps an invitation to a meal of your choosing would be appropriate?"

Keisha found herself confused, amused and rather touched. So it was the braid-pulling phase after all!

{oOo}


	96. Mirror Mirror

{oOo}

Amphithoe watched the surface of her mirror, her reflection gazing back at her. The Talisman was still new for her and she was barely starting to understand how it worked. She could see distant places in it sometimes, sometimes people and sometimes scenes. The first time she gazed into it, she saw another woman. She was beautiful, with long blonde hair, dressed in an expensive gown. Regal.

She hoped she would meet the woman one day. In an odd way she seemed familiar, like somebody she should know and protect.

Suddenly, the smooth reflective surface came to life, Amphithoe's face replaced with another. The features were sharper and for a moment she found herself crossing her gaze with that of… a man? woman? with sandy hair and dark blue eyes.

Before she could react the image blurred and saw a plain completely unfamiliar to her. There was no sand, though wind was clearly blowing, caressing golden strands. A group of odd animals was there, watching something intently.

Then the image faded and she was left to puzzle it out. Who had been this person? Would she meet them?

Again, she hoped she would. Once she thought about it, she decided she wanted to find the odd plain and see it on her own.

{oOo}

AN: Amphithoe back on Chemos prior to her and Fulgrim's discovery.


	97. Swift Across the Planes V

{oOo}

"A saber?" Jaghatai asked, contemplating the weapon hanging from the wall of the yurt. The space was, while large and opulent, was a bit trouble for the large warrior due to the low ceiling, so he was sitting, cross-legged, on the floor, while Esin busied herself in the corner that held the food supplies, extracting strips of dried meat and a couple skins full of fermented milk for a noon snack.

"What's wrong with a saber? I like sabers." She asked, rather testily, still sore about her loss in the race. How can a man that big can ride so nimbly, and the brute he rode gallop that fast? It just wasn't fair. Well, at least he was honorable, and didn't look like he had any designs on her, unlike the last bastard who challenged her to a race to 'add her to his harem'. The idiot's skull was among her favorite goblets.

"I don't know, it just doesn't look that practical. I am more a lance and bow person." Jaghatai answered, rising to his knees and reaching towards the weapon. "May I?" he inquired. One did not touch another's weapon without express permission. Upon her nod, he unhooked the curved scabbard from the wall and drew it in a single motion. The blade was exquisite, a curved, razor sharp, narrow band of steel with entwining leaves carved on the flat. "Not to mention, swords are too expensive. Too much metal that can be used for better things. This looks good, though. Not a design I would see produced by the hand of a steppe blacksmith though."

"I got it from a wandering merchant the tribe met near the southlands." Esin said, as she set the tray between them and sat across from him. "He said it is a horseman's saber. It is good for cutting people down as you pass by them. Gives you two strokes."

"Sacrifices reach, though. Getting close enough to use this is asking to get a mace head to the ribs." Jaghatai answered, but a yelp of pain interrupted his commentary. He pulled back the thumb he was using to test the blade, and saw blood on it. "Damn sharp."

"I did pay six good horses for it." Esin said with a smirk. "And yes, but it is dumb to use it against one of those armored beasts Palatine uses. But it is a lot more effective than a knife or a mace when you barge through a group of unarmored foot archers. I once cut down five of those with one sweep." She smirked. "Damn effective on foot too."

Jaghatai nodded. "Those are a pain, I give you that. And I can agree with you on that. But still, getting that close sounds too risky."

"Trading arrows with those formations from horseback is pointless. Your tribe roams the north, you do not get to see the large formations often. They can rain arrows much farther than we can with those huge bows of theirs. Nowhere near the accuracy of one of my warriors, but quantity has a quality of its own. The arrows blacken the sun. When they land on you, you are in a world of hurt. But get a light lance, one of these, some silk armor and two dozen fellows, and once you ride through their first salvo, you can be on top of them before they can fire the second. We usually leave the lances in the first line we strike, then cleave through them with axes and maces. It is very effective there."

"You might be right there." Jaghatai conceded with a thoughtful nod. "We usually deal with the raiding parties of theirs on horseback. The thrust of the lance and the bite of the arrow works better there." He took a long swallow from the bitter drink, chasing it with a couple strips of leathery meat and chewing thoroughly. Horseman's fare, but Jaghatai was used to it.

Esin leaned back, tearing a strip off her own jerky and swallowing it with a mouthful of qumis. "I lead the lighter horses, they are not my concern." She said. "The boys draw them off with arrow and curses. Foolhardy bunch, but a lot of steel. I wonder why they clad themselves with so much armor. That much steel makes almost a hundred knives, yet protects little better than my silk and leather."

"Foolish southerners love to bang each other over the head." Jaghatai chuckled. "It might be better suited for getting beaten like a drum. Sure as hell doesn't do any good against a good lance."

"Still they kill our people and carry away our children." Esin said darkly. She carried far more anger on these issues, due to the closer proximity of her tribe to the civilized lands.

"Not for long." Jaghatai answered, his teeth flashing like a knife in a vicious grin under the dim light of the tent. "I have a plan."

Esin leaned forward, intrigued. "Do tell."

{oOo}

AN: More Jaghatai and Esin from Khuzdul~.


	98. The Imperial Roadtrip I

{oOo}

So far, many members of the Imperial family had hosted family gatherings on their home planets. Their homes ranged from opulent (The sprawling palace of Perturabo on Olympia) to humble (the small house and blacksmith's shop Vulkan had on Nocturne), but the invitation for a family gathering in the Otag of Jaghatai Khan certainly seemed to be the sign of a unique experience.

The shuttles carrying various Primarchs and Senshi approached a modern-looking starport in a bustling city. Azmina Dorn caught sight of a towering palace from the plasteel window. She turned to Rogal, sitting next to her.

"Is that where we are going?" She asked.

Rogal Dorn's critical eye traveled over the battlements and buttresses of the towering fortress. His face displayed his disappointment.

"I hope not. It seems... unfitting." He murmured. Azmina pouted.

"Don't talk badly about your brother's palace." She said admonishingly. "Not everyone loves architecture as you do."

The only response from the Imperial Fists Primarch was a displeased grunt.

{oOo}

However, the luxurious ground cars and transports that met the members of the Imperial family at the starport did not bring them to the gates of the towering palace. Instead, they were brought to the northern gates of the city. The immense gates opened before the Emperor of Mankind and his family, and revealed the breathtaking scenery of boundless steppes. They also unveiled their mode of transportation: A massive convoy of rugged all-terrain transport vehicles, along with a honor guard of rugged, weather-beaten horsemen (each and every one sporting the carapace armor and markings of White Scars scout-initiates) and bike-riding Marines.

The sound of hooves announced the approach of a rider, and Esin appeared from the head of the column, riding a beautiful palomino mare. She dismounted in front of the Imperial family, and greeted them warmly, before offering a brief kiss to Amphithoe.

"Jaghatai is dealing with the feast back at the camp." She explained. "Sorry about the whole noise, when people heard about a Marine-escorted convoy, many wanted in. We have a small bandit problem, that's taking a while to clear, and people feel that more security they have, the better. We did not have the heart to refuse them." She turned towards the convoy. "We have horses, trucks, bikes and jeeps for you. Choose what you will." Her eyes went over the assorted Primarchs. "For any of you lot who wants to ride a horse, I have stallions from Jaghatai's own herd. They are bred to handle people of your... frames."

In the end, Lion El'Jonson, Leman Russ and surprisingly enough, Sanguinius (He said the transports were hard on the wings) and Mortarion (His reason? Simple. Persephone. Puppy eyes.) choose horses, along with Alta, Thora, Amphithoe (she never had a chance, once Esin brought the white mare she prepared just for her) and again, despite the protests of the entire Imperial family (except the Emperor himself, who just smiled knowingly and silenced one of Esin's objections with a warning glance), Serenity. The rest choose either jeeps or all-terrain buses prepared (The Emperor mysteriously choosing a rather beat-up, but large open top jeep that was to be used by the Marine guards, sending away the designated driver with a simple "I'll drive" and silencing all objections with a mysterious grin and a wave of his hand. He also only allowed Azmina Dorn to ride with him, in the shotgun seat, leaving the backseat empty for some reason.) and after half an hour of choosing and getting on their rides, the Imperial family, and the convoy, set out to the wastes of the Empty quarter, escorted by the Custodes, White Scars marines and scouts, and a host of lesser guards from the planet's PDF and local caravan security companies.

{oOo}

AN: Start of the family roadtrip, courtesy of Khuzdul.


	99. Sea and Wind I

{oOo}

_First Impressions I_

{oOo}

The Oda system had been an oasis of peace and prosperity among the turbulence that had engulfed the galaxy. It did not so much as brave the Old Night, but rather slept through it unbothered and unnoticed. When it was discovered by one of the smaller Expedition Fleets of the Imperium, it joined without many problems.

It seemed like it would remain like this, until the Warp spilled out several Space Hulks and a veritable armada of rokks, all teeming with battle-thirsty Orks. WAAAGH! Durzob arrived and intended to have fun.

To say that the Oda system was unprepared was an understatement. It didn't take long for the Orks to entrench themselves surprisingly well. By the time the plea for help had reached the Imperial forces the system was practically over-run.

The Lunar Wolves, accompanied by the newel christened Emperor's Children rendezvoused with the White Scars at the very fringes of the system to hammer out the strategy. It was rare indeed that the three Legions and three Primarchs would fight alongside, let alone accompanied by two Senshi. Perhaps, it was worth noting that the Emperor's Children were still underpowered, barely reaching the size of one company and their Primarch was still an inexperienced military leader.

Fulgrim stood at the side watching the holodisplay, while Horus explained the situation as they waited for the Khan and Senshi Uranus to join. Amphithoe was frowning slightly as she listened. Being a Senshi had its advantages and came with certain instinctive knowledge, but strategy as related to whole armies was not part of it. She still had to rely on explanations.

"Our first objective is locating the Warboss leading this Waagh!," Horus explained. "This is where Amphithoe comes in—you should be able to locate it with your mirror, as far as I can understand?"

"I believe so," she answered. While not entirely certain, she was aware that in theory she should be capable of finding the Ork. Before she could continue, the door opened with a hiss letting in another Primarch with a small honour guard.

Amphithoe paid him little heed, though. Her eyes were focused on his companion; the androgynous woman with short sandy blond hair. So, Senshi Uranus was the other person her mirror had shown her on Chemos. Why would she be so important?

She noted that the new-comer for all her masculinity in appearance was very attractive in her own way. The closest analogy she had was Fulgrim's new sword: a beautiful blade, but nevertheless deadly. She did not stare too long, as Horus and Fulgrim moved to greet their brother.

"Khan, this is Fulgrim," Horus said, placing his armored hand on Fulgrim's shoulder.

Fulgrim smiled, extending his hand in greeting. The handshake quickly became an embrace, both Primarchs grinning despite outward differences. Jagathai remained every inch a barbarian warlord, while Fulgrim in his new armor looked more regal.

Once the two had stepped back, Horus continued the introductions. Resting his hand on Amphithoe's back, he said, "This is Senshi Neptune—Amphithoe."

Jagathai Khan nodded at her, just as the second Senshi stepped forward.

"Esin," she said, looking at Amphithoe with appreciation.

Amphithoe returned the look, but the moment was spoiled mere seconds later. There was a campaign to plan, after all. She would be able to talk later. As Horus began to explain again, Amphithoe took her mirror and looked into her own eyes, trying to find the Warboss.

{oOo}


	100. Wolfborn

{oOo}

Fenris had always been a harsh mistress. The winters were long and harsh, summers marred by volcanic activity increasing; it was not a planet for the weak. Even after joining the Imperium, the situation did not change much.

The people of Fenris were proud of being able to brave the sternest winters without any outside help and refused to use Imperial technology. This approach was subtly encouraged by Leman Russ, who found it simplified training Marines significantly.

This approach had its causalities.

The boy was small and dirty, his hair tangled badly. Naked, hunched, he did not appear like much and yet he had a whole pack of wolves in tow and was somehow hauling an intitate who had already earned himself the sobriquet the Giant.

Harald Deathwolf stared. This was not a usual sight.

"Child, what happened?" he asked, cautiously approaching the boy. It was the wolves that worried him most—they were notoriously vicious, after all. The child tensed up and growled, baring its teeth.

He'd seen much scarier, but the reaction was not one he had hoped for.

"I mean you no harm," he added, trying to sound as unthreatening as possible. The attempt was foiled by his sheer size, though.

The boy growled again, curled up on all fours.

Harald was quite sure the boy did not understand him at all. There had been similar incidents, children lost in the wilderness or left alone when their parents have died. Most perished shortly after, but some thrived. As far as he knew only their Primarch managed to be fully re-adapted into society out of all the ones that had been rediscovered. This child had almost no chances to become a functional member of human society. He was simply too old.

This time, instead of speaking he attempted to coax the boy with a friendly gesture.

{oOo}

"A whole pack of Thunderwolves, you say?" Ulfhild asked, looking down at the boy. He was among the wolves again, a small shape dwarfed by the giant animals. "Still, I doubt he's ever going to be an efficient Marine."

"With all due respect, I had trouble subduing him," Harald replied, frowning.

Ulfhild shook her head. "He's more wolf than man. He acknowledges you, but will he listen to anyone else?"

For a while, the Wolf Lord and the de facto ruler of Fenris watched the boy in silence. Had her father been here, what would he choose? The Ulfhild sighed softly. "Have it your way, but remember, I will hold you accountable for his transgressions."

After a moment, she added softly, "Give him a name."

{oOo}

AN: Surprisingly not original characters introduced here, visit the Lexicanum and search 'Harald Deathwolf' and 'Canis Wolfborn'.


	101. The Imperial Roadtrip II

{oOo}

Horus knew one thing.

His father was a troll.

Serenity moaned in pain in the tent next to his, attended by Azmina Dorn and her ladies in waiting.

Esin approached from the darkness, shaking her head at the pain-filled moans of the Princess.

Horus was not in a charitable mood. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I tried." Esin said calmly. "Your father didn't let me."

Horus directed his eyes heavenward. "Why didn't we just land near your camp? This place is a vast flatland. I bet we could have just landed anywhere in these plains."

Esin chuckled. "Yeah, and I think you would be the one who would dig the shuttles out of the muck afterwards, right?" She snarked. "There is a reason none of these weigh more than ten tons." She stomped on the dry earth. Horus noticed the ground sink easily. "This is plains soil just after rainy season. Completely waterlogged. Upper layer looks dry, but there is still a ton of water under that. Put a hundred ton lander on it, and come morning you will find it sunk to the wings. There is a reason you are riding these cars and not a bunch of Land Raiders."

"Okay, okay, no need to bite my head off." answered the Luna Wolves primarch, holding his hands up defensively. "But can't you do anything about her?"

"I'll be doing something." Esin said, holding up a masonry jar. When she shook it, a sharp smell tickled Horus' nose. "This salve will help with the muscle cramps, and she will learn it is not a good idea to ride a horse all day when you are not used to it."

Horus grinned. "She took riding lessons, especially after we found you and Jaghatai. But I think she underestimated how used to horses you were." His brow creased in a slight frown. "Come to think of it, how come Alta, Thora and Amphithoe aren't complaining about it?"

"Ah, don't worry, Alta and Thora are feeling it too. They are just too tough girls to make it known like your dear sister. Your brothers are not much better." At this, she produced another masonry jar. "Take this to Lion and Mortarion. Leman, interestingly enough, seems used to this kind of thing, but those two are trying to do the manly thing and swallow their groans. It is not working."

"Right." Then he remembered something. "How about Amphithoe?"

His only answer was a wry grin, just before Esin disappeared through the tent flap. He shook his head, smothering a chuckle, and went to find his brothers.

{oOo}

AN: More of the roadtrip from Khuzdul~


	102. The Imperial Roadtrip III

{oOo}

_A few hours before._

Sometimes he really enjoyed having his sons.

Especially when they can offer almost forgotten experiences like this. He really had to thank Jaghatai for this... road trip. This was something he had not done for almost twenty millenia. Just enjoying the wilderness. One can easily forget simple pleasures like this in the entire big scheme of things.

The Master of Mankind leaned back in his driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other over the back of the seat. Azmina, dear girl, was grasping the steel frame tube next to her tightly, and looked awfully pale and green around the gills.

He spared a glance for her. He knew that color. "Check the glove compartment." He said off-handedly.

"Yes, sir." She opened the compartment and rummaged through it. A small holdout lasgun dropped from the compartment. Emperor shook his head. Sloppy sloppy sloppy. Finally, the blonde Senshi pulled out the roll of paper bags out of the mess, and proceeded to open one.

Moments later, gagging sounds were carried away by the wind flipping over the vehicle.

Emperor sighed. Uneven roads took some getting used to. Talking about getting used to... His eyes searched around and found Serenity on the large blue roan mare she chose. Her daughter's discomfort was evident, even as the horse matched speeds with the slow moving convoy in a comfortable if slightly rocky trot, and seemed fresh enough for a horse that had been on the move for almost six hours now. The convoy pace was determined by the slower transports, with the lead complement clocking 15 kph without undue strain on the horses, but the unaccustomed riders in their company (namely Serenity, his sons, and Senshi that chose horses) were starting to feel it, obviously. He shook his head. That would be a lesson in not trying to act like a fish without gills.

He turned back to the road, and caught sight of an outrider galloping towards the head of the convoy. White Scar bikers and initiate horsemen had been moving up and down the convoy all day along with Esin, patrolling for any disruptions and problems. Leman frequently joined them as they spread out to the flanks, showing a surprising amount of aptitude. So far, nothing serious had happened.

The galloping rider, a scarred initiate on a bay stallion, pulled through the riders surrounding his jeep and slowed down.

"My Lord, I have come bearing a message from Lady Esin." said the gruff man.

Emperor switched gears to match speed with the horse, and members of the Imperial family in earshot crowded towards him.

"Go on." Emperor prompted.

"A band of bandits were caught by our initiate riders, my lord, thirty men. They have been planning an ambush further down the road. A band of Marines along with Lord Russ had rode forward to deal with their compatriots. Lady Esin is about to order their immediate execution according to Yassa, but she sent me to ask if you have any orders regarding the matter."

Emperor scratched his chin. He knew about the Yassa of his son, and that it ordered the death of any bandits and highwaymen under his title as the Opener of Ways. But the look in Serenity's eyes made him pause. The idealist in his daughter was making herself known again, it seemed. And Azmina next to him was fidgeting uncomfortably. His eyes traveled over the faces of those around him. Neither Mortarion, nor Lion or Alta seemed concerned by the summary execution, but Azmina, Serenity and Amphithoe looked uncomfortable about it. "Ask Lady Esin to hold the executions until nightfall. She may send the prisoners forward." He finally said. The initiate nodded and turned his horse back. He beckoned Serenity closer.

"You may go see Esin about it. But here, Jaghatai's old law is the rule, and I won't interfere against it. Neither will you." He warned sharply. "You may talk to Esin. But you may not order her or Jaghatai on this issue."

Serenity nodded, then motioned to Alta and Amphithoe. They turned the heads of their horses back, and rode off.

The Emperor shook his head, then turned towards Azmina. "How do you feel now." He asked. At her uncertain nod, he gently patted her shoulder. "Try to lie down in the back seat and watch the sky. That'll help." Azmina nodded gratefully and climbed over the seat. The Master of Mankind, meanwhile, turned towards the road, and started humming a half remembered tune as he drove.

_I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy, _

_And I'm a long long way from home._

_And this poor, lonesome cowboy,_

_Has a long long way to go..._

{oOo}

AN: And here is some contemplation from the Emperor.


	103. Sea and Wind II

{oOo}

_First Impressions II_

{oOo}

Amphithoe had not received many gifts in her life and most of them only recently. She had been slightly taken aback when a stern-faced sergeant of the White Scars appeared at her door and gruffly announced that Senshi Uranus was sending her regards and then presented her with a silk dress.

It was really pretty she decided and came with a decorative headdress, which puzzled her thoroughly. How was one supposed to work in it? Wouldn't it fall off or get in the way?

The dress was quite elaborate in itself. Pale blue and aqua, it was composed of two layers, one brighter than the other. Decorative silver embroidery covered the outer aqua layer, while the blue under-dress remained plain. She really had no idea when she would wear it, though. Still, it was a very nice gesture and so she told the Marine to send her thanks to Esin.

Once he was out of view she placed the dress where it wouldn't get crumpled and headed to find Fulgrim.

She didn't need to search for long, since he was trying to learn as much about the system to prepare for the campaign. His role would be small out of necessity—the Emperor's Children were simply too small still to be employed fully in the fighting, but he intended to conduct his task as well as possible, which was why he locked himself in his room and was reading all the data they had available, while making notes on strategy.

"Fulgrim? I think I need your help," she said, which had him look up instantly, looking worried.

"What broke down?" he asked almost on instinct, before laughing at himself. "I need to stop doing that, don't I?"

"I'm sure nobody will mind if you fix a pipe or two once in a while," she giggled. "Senshi Uranus sent me a dress."

Fulgrim looked surprised for a moment, before saying, "I suppose she wants to welcome you?"

Amphithoe nodded. "That's what I thought too. Do you suppose I should send something in return?"

Fulgrim considered the question. It was a valid worry, since neither of them knew much about the custom that ruled Mundus Planus. In the end, he shook his head. "I don't think so—I think we can wait until we can give her something else than rusty pipes, at least."

Amphithoe covered her mouth with her hand and started giggling again.

{oOo}


	104. Sea and Wind III

{oOo}

_War_

{oOo}

The first part of the campaign was also the most difficult one. The Oda system was surrounded by field of asteroids, which served as mining bases as well. The Orks have taken over almost all of them, making leaving or entering the system itself nearly impossible. The only option was to retake the asteroid belt, since only creating a breach would leave the Imperial army vulnerable to an attack from behind. In itself it still appeared to be a bad solution: how long would it take to retake all the mining bases? For most commanders this situation would prove to be difficult to handle and this was precisely why the Emperor had created the Primarchs. Jaghatai, Fulgrim and Horus had created a plan that gave them a chance not to engage in a lengthy campaign and yet would allow them to safely breach the orks' defenses.

Mostly, it would be the Luna Wolves who would fight, since there were simply too little Emperor's Children and the White Scars had a different are of expertise. With Amphithoe's help they had managed to find the key points among the asteroids. By striking them they would draw the most Orks into battle and in this case into space, making them perfect targets for the Imperial Navy.

That was not to say that only the Luna Wolves would take part in combat. Lots were drawn among the other Legion and the lucky ones formed squads that would join the Horus and his warriors on the asteroids. The rest of the White Scars would have to wait for planetary combat, while the Emperor's Children would mostly only step in if the losses were unexpectedly high.

Amphithoe found herself feeling worried; she had no previous experience in combat and only what she learned so far as any sort of preparation for what was to come. Esin appeared to quite relaxed, weighing her saber in her hand impatiently. She envied how the other woman appeared to be completely at home on the battlefield and wondered if she'd ever feel like that.

"Stay behind me," Esin instructed, "and learn."

Amphithoe nodded. She had a sneaking suspicion that Fulgrim, had he been there, would have found that insulting, but she recognized her limits. She was the less experienced one and the one with a polearm. It made sense for her to stay back.

Surrounded by Marines, she followed Esin. Not that they had to go very far to find a fight. The Orks were everywhere on the station and were all too eager to fight some 'umies. The first group was not that big, but their bellows attracted others of their kind and soon the corridors were swarming with screaming Orks. The situation only looked grim until one noticed that the xenos were so eager to fight that they were killing one another in the rush to get to their opponents.

Before they could reach them, the Marines and Esin moved to the sides, just as Amphitohe called out: "Deep Submerge!"

A torrent of salty water crashed against the mass of green bodies sweeping most of their feet and crashing them into walls. Those in the direct path of the attack and in the nearest corridors had not survived the impact.

Still, more came, as orks were wont to. The Marines started shooting as soon as Amphithoe fell back behind them. Orks were not usually smart, but did posses a certain natural cunning when it came to combat. One did not need to be a genius to figure out that attacking from the flank or from behind would increase their chances of actually harming any of the Marines. However, there were certain things that eluded most orks and one of them was being silent as they snuck up.

A huge ork charged at Amphithoe from the side, bellowing at the top of his voice. Surprised, she barely dodged the brute and stumbled back. She was supposed to fight that? But it was so much bigger than her!

Esin was like the wind, as she appeared before the stunned Amphithoe. For all the brute strength and surprising speed an ork had, the best could not strike her down. Her saber was a blur as she struck, eliciting roars of pain and frustration.

Suddenly, the ork went still and toppled over, as Amphithoe drew her trident back.

{oOo}


	105. Issue of Trust II

{oOo}

"What were you thinking?" Alta snapped angrily, her hands on her hips as she watched her brother.

Luther looked away, tense and angry. "I apologized to him. I explained everything. What lies did he tell you?"

Alta looked completely taken aback by his tone. They had never been truly close; she was a girl and therefore prepared for a different role. He had never attempted to understand her and she had not actively sought his company. Then he was accepted into the Order.

For most of his childhood, he had been away. He did not truly know his sister and neither did she. Yet, from what she remembered, he did care about the Lion and about her. He would not accuse others of lying just like that, especially when he was also to blame.

"I talked with Zahariel," she said softly and Luther froze his face growing pale. "He said you nearly let many people die simply because you felt the Lion was taking all the glory."

Luther sunk his head low.

"I told him it'd never happen again and yet he sent me away. In the end, I never did anything—it has to count for something."

She wished she had been around him when he was growing up. Perhaps then she'd know how to explain it best to him, how to make him see. The Lion, oddly enough, was much easier to deal with in that respect. Jonson simply needed to be reassured that just because Luther had failed, it did not mean he was all alone with no one to trust.

"Luther—tell me, who did the Lion trust?" she asked patiently.

Her brother watched her blankly, before shrugging, "He has his brothers, his father, his Legion-"

"None of whom were there for him on Caliban, none of whom taught him how to speak, how to fight, how to be a man," Alta snapped. "You did. Damn it, Luther why did you leave such a mess for me to fix?"

Luther stared at her and then shook his head. "You mean well sister, but there's nothing left to fix. The Lion won't trust me again and neither should you."

Alta watched him walk away and silently vowed, she was not going to leave this like that.

{oOo}


	106. The Imperial Roadtrip IV

{oOo}

_Back to nighttime, at the camp..._

The whole trip was a time of nostalgia for the Emperor. The curious mix of primitive and modern, the wilderness, and the sheer freedom of the steppe made him once again appreciate Jaghatai's unending love of the place.

As he walked out of the camp in an easy stroll, offering a single wave to the Marine sentries surrounding the place, he drew a lungful of crisp, dry night air. He turned towards the field outside the camp, where grazing horses stood as a group, surrounded by a group of initiate guards.

When he approached the herd, he noticed Persephone talking to an elderly man next to a horse. He stopped to listen, as they gently caressed the mane of a beautiful chestnut mare and examined something on the animal's side.

"Here, my lady. You can see the sores left by the saddle. The idiot who rode this horse fitted his saddle wrong, and hurt the poor thing." The old man, obviously someone with great experience with horses, explained. From his position, the Emperor can see the painful looking sores on the shoulders and back of the beautiful horse. It was a sad sight, and the animal is obviously in pain, shifting uncomfortably.

Persephone gently caressed the animal's side, careful not to touch the sores. "She is hurting badly." She said in a sad voice. "Can you do anything?"

"Indeed, my lady." The old man answered. "I will mix a salve for them. Maybe you would like to apply it? The sores require a gentle touch, and I am sure she would appreciate your hands better than my old calluses. After we apply the salve, she will be right as rain come morning."

Persephone smiled beautifully, prompting a smile from both the old stable master and the Emperor with the childlike innocence she still maintained against all odds. Soon the duo were under the light of another torch planted to the ground, and the old master was slowly mixing and crushing leaves, seeds and oils in a clay mortar, explaining the properties of each herb in a gentle voice. The Emperor left them to their own devices and continued his stroll towards the edge of the herd. As he reached the limits of the camp, the initiate sentry standing guard stood to attention.

"At ease." He said, coming to stand next to the man. He dwarfed him significantly, but he felt a strange sort of camaraderie to the young man. Standing guard against the darkness is something he knew well. Then, a sliver of silvery light broke through the distant peaks, and slowly, a full moon rose over the steppes, bathing them in an ethereal light. Tall grass gently swayed as the sounds of the camp slowly died behind them. The Emperor watched the dreamlike vista for a while, the only sound accompanying him an occasional snort from the horses behind them. Sometime later, his hand fell on the shoulder of the scout.

"My lord?" The man enquired.

"You have a beautiful world." The Emperor commented lightly.

"Indeed, my lord." The man said, a bit uncertain and awed by the fact that the Master of Mankind deigned to engage in small talk with him, a lowly initiate.

"One can appreciate his duty when he sees it is preserving beauty such as this, isn't it." The Emperor said in a far away voice.

"True, my lord, too true." The scout murmured, watching the emotions play over the Emperor's majestic face.

The Emperor patted the young man on the shoulder once more. "Right. Good night, son." He said, then turned to leave.

"Good night, my lord." The scout replied, almost glowing with pride.

The Emperor went back through the horses. He noticed Persephone next to the mare she was examining, carefully applying the salve to the great beast's flank with gently fingers and whispering soothing words to the hurt animal's ear. He smiled as he walked back to his tent, catching Esin trading words with Horus then slipping into Serenity's tent. He noticed Horus get up and walk towards him, and his smile grew into a full grin. His son looked displeased, to say the least, with a masonry jar in his hands.

Sometimes it felt really good to be a father.

{oOo}


	107. Sea and Wind IV

{oOo}

_Culture Shock_

{oOo}

Amphithoe decided she needed a guide to the customs of Chogoris, preferably one with pictures, charts and other aids, since she didn't understand Esin's behaviour at all. She appeared cordial at first and the first gift had been really nice. However, further gifts she had not expected. They were still very nice, starting with the beautiful silk dresses, soft leather shoes and similar items, and ending with a whole herd of white horses.

Well, to be fair, the last gift was given to Fulgrim. Not that it changed the situation much—they still had no idea what to do with them. They were very beautiful, she had to admit that. They came with their own equipment too, which she considered very thoughtful and yet…

"Where does she think we will keep them?" Fulgrim asked, frowning. Chemos was still not the right place—for now they had to focus on keeping the humans fed and work on bringing it back to a state in which it would be capable of supporting a growing population. It was far too early to bring animals into the mix.

"I don't think Horus will mind if we ask for them to stay on one of his ships for now," Amphithoe replied thoughtfully.

Fulgrim sighed, but nodded. "There has to be some way to tactfully get her to stop."

They exchanged looks and nodded to each other. Horus would get to practice tutoring again.

Horus had long ago realized that Primarchs could get headaches. While he did not have as many duties as Father or Serenity, being the first Primarch to be found meant that he was the one to show the others how they should act and what their responsibilities were. His brothers had proven time and time again that immense intellect did not always equal maturity and did not guarantee always having sound ideas.

He looked at Fulgrim. Then he looked Amphithoe.

Then he allowed him a brief moment where he inwardly despaired over his cruel fate.

Finally, he proceeded to explain what exactly was happening. It would be most unfortunate if cultural misunderstandings would lead to conflict between Jagathai and Fulgrim. It would be even less fortunate, if those very same misunderstandings would weaken the bond that seemed to be forming between the two Senshi—he could already see that having them cooperate would be immensely beneficial.

"Esin is courting you," he said. "As far as I understand, a part of the rituals on her planet is that the groom-to-be has to demonstrate his wealth and physical prowess. It appears Esin is doing just that."

Fulgrim and Amphithoe appeared puzzled, though a slow thoughtful grin replaced the confused expression on Neptune's face a fraction of a minute later.

{oOo}


	108. The Dutiful Brother

{oOo}

Horus blinked at the tableaux in front of him, before a faint smile drew itself across his mouth and he walked around the desk and gathered is sleeping sister into his arms and made his way to her chambers.

She shifted, "Mmnh?" blinking sleepily up to see Horus' tanned face, she smiled and closed her eyes again.

"Bedtime?" he said, amused.

"Don't push your luck, mister," she responded tartly without opening her eyes, voice yet laced with drowsiness.

"My mistake," he gave a rumbling chuckle.

{oOo}

A ship servant double-taked at Horus as he walked past, earning a nod and pleasant smile in greeting, so responded with a slightly dazed nod in return, and when they had gone out of the range of the man's hearing, "May I ask what it was you where studying?" Horus asked his curiousity getting the better of him.

Serenity stirred, "Reports and some letters from Uncle Malcador, Azmina and Thora."

"Ah," he noted as they drew closer to where Serenity's quarters, "Tedium and boredom?"

She gave a muted snicker causing Horus to look down at her face with one enquiring eyebrow raised, "Well, Azmina's reports are as exhaustive and thorough as ever, but Thora's letter was amusing," her smile widened.

"And…?" prompted Horus.

"Little Ulfi is growing up it seems," Serenity capitulated, "she has a pretty lady friend now, that she saved from some wolves."

Horus brain stalled for a moment, before he began to chuckle, "I take it, that it… surprised our wild brother."

There was a faint unlady-like snort, "He doesn't really care that it's a girl that Ulfi has affections for, naturally, and Thora did relay that Leman found her very pretty and a pleasant person overall, it just…"

"It trampled on Leman's worldview a bit?" finished Horus

Serenity only sighed exasperatedly as they slowed to a stop.

"And down you go," announced Horus as he made to set her on her feet outside the door or her quarters.

Serenity grumbled wordlessly but stood under her own power and yawned widely, so her dark-eyed brother poked her shoulder and repeated, "Bed, sister, now."

"Alright, alright," Serenity mock-glowered at him, keyed the code to open the door, "Good night, Horus"

"Sleep well, sister."

{oOo}


	109. Imperial Traditions

{oOo}

Among many intriguing Imperial traditions had been the Official and Dread Checking Up on the Administratum. Whole generations of clerks trembled at the mere mention of those words, going into a maddened frenzy of double-checking records and making sure that the relatives they hired were at least competent.

The tradition was started by none other than Roboute Guilliman, who had a habit of visiting administrators on various compliant planets to see how they were doing. Surprisingly enough the next primarch to take such actions was Fulgrim, who in turn managed to convince Ferrus Manus to make similar controls.

As such things are wont to, the visits have been adapted into something more and once the Great Crusade and the Age of Heresy were over, it transformed into unannounced visits on an adminstratorial world conducted by the members of the Imperial Faimly.

A memorable occasion had been Leman Russ' and Angron's visit to Litteras and the subsequent reorganization of the local structures. While tales present this event as a true cataclysm with burning houses and weeping mothers, the truth is much less colourful. Only one building suffered several broken walls and the subsequent victims were merely wounded. (1)

Another, well-known tale is that of Konrad Curze's and Mortarion's visit to Trajan. It is a well-known fact that the head administrator and most senior staff committed suicide upon hearing that the two primarchs had landed. It later came to light that they were involved in a lot of dirty business.

{oOo}

(1) The cause of which had nothing to do with the visit of the Primarch and had been merely a result of a construction mistake.

{oOo}


	110. The Origin of the Codex Astartes

{oOo}

Roboute Guilliman had produced many an important work of literature for the Imperium. The current tactics and organization of the Adeptus Astartes are based on his Codex Astartes, after all. While some detractors might claim that not all chapters follow it to the letter and some ignore it almost altogether, however one must remember that Guilliman had never intended it to be a set of rigid rules to be forced onto others and instead thinks of it as a guideline that should be altered to suit the skills of a particular chapter.

It is not only the Space Marines that owe much to the Codex Astares. Tactica Imperialis has drawn much inspiration from Guilliman's writings and it can be safely said that many Imperial officers base their tactics on stratagems created by the Primarch of the Ultramarines. However, another often made mistake is assuming that since Guilliman wrote so much about tactics and strategy, all the ideas he presents are his own designs.

Among his brothers, Guilliman was the Jack of all trades, his broad knowledge of facets of war allowing him to adapt to many situations, but preventing him at excelling at one particular aspect. Guilliman was well aware of this fact and sought to amend this by learning from his brothers.

In fact, much of the Codex Astartes was created from discussions between Primarchs and sometimes the Senshi. A truly fascinating chapter on using the weather to one's advantage owes much to Tekhne of Olympia, who, as all well know, often used fog to her advantage. Both the Warmaster and Primarch Fulgrim had shared valuable insights on maintaining high morale among troops, while maintaining proper discipline. While it is not much of a guess that Rogal Dorn and Perturabo had contributed much to discussing fortresses and sieges, a less well-known fact is that they both had also analyzed in-depth the advantages of learning from local architecture and adapting it to one's needs.

Still, without Guilliman we might have not had the chance to learn all those things, as his nature allowed him to see merit in flexibility and adapting, arts which the Ultramarines and their successors still practice with great effect. One of the greatest signs of recognition an Astartes can earn is writing his own chapter for the Codex.

{oOo}


	111. Entertainment of the Imperium IV

{oOo}

While not nearly as popular as Angron, Konrad Curze nevertheless is still a figure with a strong place in the Imperial pop-culture. The general perception of the Primarch of the Night Lords owes much to the well-known artist Franc Mlynar and his most famous work "The Return of the Nighthaunter". It is still considered one of the best graphic novels in Imperial history and a well-liked classic.

It concentrates on the Primarch's early days back on Nostramo, where he fought crime as a vigilante. Admittedly, there are some major breaks from reality, as according to the oldest Night Lords Nostramo isn't enough of a hellhole. It also mistakenly made Senshi Saturn Curze's faithful companion, despite her being a native of Barbarus.

Unfortunately, Mlynar's works started deteriorating shortly after and his other graphic novel about Konrad Curze has never seen the light of the day. The initial sketch has been burned down by Captain Zso Saahal after he had murdered Mlynar and nailed him to the building, having written "WHORESWHOREWHORES" in Mlynar's blood above him.

Paradoxically, Adamas Occidens's holoseries "Nighthaunter" has never provoked the Legion to such drastic actions and is in fact quite well-liked by the Night Lords, despite being completely removed from reality and on the crazy side of deranged. One of the most interesting theories to explain this phenomenon is attributed to Lord General Jaap de Hoop Mun, who claimed that the Orks developed a panic fear of the Night Lords after intercepting a transmission of the show.

{oOo}


	112. With Baited Breath

{oOo}

Caliban welcomed the news of the Lion's impeding visit with enthusiasm. He was their hero and their pride. The celebration was shaping up to be something of a worldwide festival, with parades, bunting and copious amounts of free alcohol. Zahariel was quite certain he caught Luther muttering something about sausages and free shirts. Still, it would be a well-deserved celebration. The whole populace was taking part in the implementation of the new training program for Space Marines and providing supplies for the Legion.

The recruits whispered rumors in hushed tones, hopeful and frightened at the same time, but mostly expectant. Would the Primarch take them to the stars? Was he coming to see them? See how they were doing, if they were shaping up according to his expectations?

Zahariel found himself sharing those hopes. After all, if the Dark Angels needed so many recruits so quickly, surely they also needed their more experienced warriors. He could see his brothers chafing at the forced inactivity, at the thoughts of the glory they would miss. Surely, the Primarch would see this and reconsider?

He was aware that Senshi Pluto had been trying to get at the root of the problem and he had shared what he knew with her. Perhaps the visit was an end result?

Luther and his honour guard stood at the landing pad, Zahariel in his white surplice among them. They watched the Stormbird land, ignoring the howling of the engines and the hot wind blowing in their faces. Slowly, the noise died down and the hatch opened with a hiss. A squad of veterans marched down, Jonson between them.

He stopped, surveying their ranks. His eyes scanned each of their faces until he spotted Luther. There was an almost unnoticeable shift in his expression and he walked up to his brother.

"I will have your report now," he said. Zahariel felt his heart sink at the Primarch's dry official tone. If Luther was not forgiven, it did not bode well for the rest of them.

Luther paled, but responded without missing a beat. "Of course. We have reduced the time necessary for training recruits to four years and I believe we can still make the process more effective. The factories are reaching their maximum efficiency and are already capable of supplying the Expedition Fleets of the Dark Angels without any problems."

The Lion nodded. Again he looked at them meeting their gazes. It was almost as if he was searching for something. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Zahariel, but the moment passed and he said, "It is time to start the celebrations, isn't it?"

{oOo}


	113. Venus Armata

{oOo}

Not many women could make yellow appear the colour worthy of a true lady, but Senshi Venus was quite adept in pulling it off. The delicate gold and copper threads adorning her throat and arms, accentuated the simple, yet elegant cut of her dress. Perhaps as a nod towards her origin, she had come with a fur-lined cape slung over her shoulders that now rested on a nearby chair.

With a snap, she opened her fan and waved it lazily, as she looked around. She was quite glad Sanguinius was so nice and did keep gifting her such pretty trinkets on various occasions. He was really skilled and enjoyed experimenting with various metals on her request. She'd have to thank him again once she had a chance—she wouldn't have gotten nearly as many jealous looks, had it not been for his efforts, after all.

The party was a part of a world-wide celebration. Forseti had only just joined the Imperium and the festivities were the culmination of the long stressful months she and her cousin had spent negotiating with the local dignitaries. There was some unrest and a very reactionary faction that simply rejected any suggestion of change, but in the end they managed to arrive at a solution that was acceptable to both sides.

Feeling pleasantly satisfied with herself, Azmina almost didn't notice the man coming at her. Almost. True, it was sudden that he had a knife drawn and aimed at her, and her dress was not suited to fighting at all. She still managed to dodge gracefully, closing her fan with a snap.

"Our liberty will die with you!" the man cried. "You should have come armed, invader!"

To his shock, Azmina smiled at him. The general public was aware that she was an excellent swordswoman and a very good shot. Most officers in the Imperial Army and Space Marines were aware that she could create chains and shoot energy. Not many, however, understood that the true core of her power was actually related to metal.

This time, there was no snap as her fan opened. The man's eyes widened as he saw that she was holding a set of matching throwing knives. He started to edge away, but only got as far as the wall, when they embedded themselves in his abdomen and chest. Slowly, he slumped down, warm blood trickling down from the wounds. This was not the end of his shocks for that day.

He watched as the knives returned to the Senshi's hand, allowing more blood to gush out. As he blacked out, he heard the snap of the fan and a cheerful, "I'm always armed."

{oOo}

AN: And before you wonder at the oddness of that terrorists battle cry, that _is_ really was he said, the foolish man was a bit excitable and incoherent. ;)


	114. Brotherhood

{oOo}

Vulkan felt surprisingly smug as he watched the stunned expression on Konrad Curze's face. It was a truly special day when somebody managed to surprise him and Vulkan was quite certain nobody would have expected him to shock his brother so. Nevertheless, he managed to do it and keep the surprise secret from everyone, including the more nosy and suspicious members of the family.

The Primarch of the Night Lord's blinked again, turning over the Lightening Claws in his large scared hands, fingers tracing the blades. Suddenly, he yelped softly, as few droplets of blood fell on the floor.

"Enacting clichés, brother?" Vulkan chuckled to himself, white teeth flashing in a grin.

"Where would I learn how to accept gifts, if not from books?" Curze's riposte was surprisingly quick.

Vulkan arched his eyebrow, nodding nevertheless. "Would you like to test them?"

Konrad nodded and Vulkan moved to help put on the gauntlets. Synchronizing them with the armor took a moment, but then finally they came to live with a faint crackling sound. Occasionally, a blue arch would form on them, reminding all in Konrad's vicinity of their power.

Curze flexed his fingers, watching the blades move. "They fit perfectly."

"Of course. I made them, after all," Vulkan said. He was not going to admit how difficult it had been to get the measurements without being spotted. Suffice to say that he intended to leave spying to others for good. "Now come, try them out."

Konrad nodded solemnly, as they headed for the training rooms. The Night Lord's and the crew parted before them, awed looks following their path. Vulkan pushed the door open and let his brother step into the training cage, before sending in a servitor inside. The mindless cyborg stepped in and attacked, unheeding of the danger such action brought.

Konrad dodged the strike easily and lashed out, lightening quick. The claws flashed with caged energy as he slashed. The head of the servitor rolled away, the light in the bionic eyes dying.

He watched blood vaporize on the blades, before letting his hand fall. "This is a very generous gift."

Vulkan shrugged and shook his head. "I would not wish my brother to fight with an inferior weapon. I know my work will not fail you."

Konrad Curze watched him silently, surprise flashing on his pale face and in his black eyes.

{oOo}


	115. Steel Tales

{oOo}

On opening the door Azmina paused, blinking at the downright odd feeling that passed across her senses, before pushing it aside and approaching her cousin and the silver-eyed, grim-faced man.

Rogal nodded in greeting, "Brother," he said to Ferrus Manus, "this is my cousin, Azmina. Azmina?" he sounded mildly perplexed.

His cousin only kept staring. It was a most uncharacteristic reaction for her meeting a new person. Normally, she was the open and chatty one, engaging the newcomer in conversation moments after they met. She had not been so silent upon being introduced to any of his brothers so far.

"Azmina," he said sternly. "You're staring."

His cousin blinked, tearing her eyes away from Ferrus' hands and looking up to meet his silver eyes and a half-amused half-exasperated smile. "Don't worry, everybody does that."

She shook her head, golden hair swishing with the energetic denial. "That's not that—the metal lives."

Ferrus looked taken aback, as he raised his hand to look at it. He turned it over, watching the light reflect from the surface. "Yes, it does," he finally said. "And I feel what I touch."

He continued watching his hand, ignoring the uncharacteristically baffled look Rogal gave him or the confused frown on Azmina's face. "How do you know this?"

Azmina gave him a rather sheepish smile and tried to shoo Rogal away, as he moved to hover protectively next to her. "Really, you're younger than me. I protect you, you silly boy," she muttered, before starting to explain. "Well, you know how Mars is all fire and Jupiter thunder and plants? I'm connected to metal like that; I can recognise them without seeing, or smelling or anything like that. So, I can tell that your hands are alive and metal—and weird."

"Try having such hands. It's weirder," he laughed softly, the sound surprisingly pleasant, if rumbling. "The strangest part was seeing them for the first time—do you know how I got them?"

Both Rogal and Azmina shook their heads, the gesture surprisingly similar. For a moment, it seemed like Rogal intended to say something, but he reconsidered. Azmina suspected he had been about to ask "didn't you always have them?" but realized this was a stupid question. Wouldn't the Emperor have told them so, if it were the case?

"Back when I was young, there was a terrible wyrm on Medusa," Ferrus Manus started his tale. "It's body appeared to be fashioned out of polished silver and yet twisted like that of any snake…"

To Azmina it sounded somewhat like one of the stories her parents would tell her before going asleep. Admitedly, it wasn't entirely like that: Ferrus did not look like a beautiful prince and the wyrm was far creepier for her then any dragon could have been. She could tell that her cousin was as fascinated, though he was likely analyzing it under a different angle then she was. Where she imagined how a being made all of living metal would feel to her, he was likely considering the tactics he'd use to combat it.

"I couldn't find a way to defeat it," Ferrus continued. "It was sheer desperation that drove me to pushing it into the lava. By all rights, I should have lost my hands."

He raised them again, fingers spread wide. "And yet when I finally let the carcass sink and dissolve, I found them like this…"

Azmina leant back, letting out a disappointed sigh.

"That explained very little," Rogal voiced his sentiment, very much like her own.

"I wish I had a better explanation," Ferrus Manus said, his voice apologetic. "Maybe you could help me find out more?"

{oOo}


	116. Disbelief

{oOo}

Out of the many worlds of the Imperium Nostramo was not one that would be mourned too heavily. Its main exports had been adamantium, but the Imperium had other sources of the metal; and Space Marines, most of whom were all too happy to leave their home planet even after all the years since joining.

Nevertheless, Sergeant Torian felt rather out of it, as he started at the debris were once his homeplanet had been. Next to him, Brother Sores let out an oddly high-pitched giggle and said, "That's not Nostramo. Nostramo is rounder."

Torian observed with some detachment that apparently Space Marines could get hysterical too, before grabbing the back of Sores' head and slamming it against the nearest hard object, which happened to be a wall under the screen. Sores stumbled away with a bloody nose.

"Anybody else feels like moaning like a fucking lady?" Torian snarled, inspecting the rest of his squad. His Battle Brothers seemed to pull themselves together, embracing the familiar routine. While none looked particularly happy, they did not appear to be falling apart or going catatonic with shock.

"Good," Torian said. "All of you go back to your rooms and inspect your gear. I want you battle ready in twenty minutes!"

As they filed away, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. Perhaps he had miscalculated at first in assuming others would be as unaffected by the loss of their homeworld as he was, but he was not going to let that mistake cost his Squad its morale. He's keep them so busy they'd forget they had a damn homeworld in the first place.

{oOo}


	117. The Wolf and the Rose III

{oOo}

Leman Russ didn't know much about courting. He had no parents to tell him of how they romanced and his peers found him too intimidating to share their exploits with him. The only source of knowledge of that source he could draw upon was what he saw others do and the sagas the story-teller told at feasts. This left him with a rather specific idea on romance.

Great heroes in sagas used to hunt terrible beasts and tended to bring the trophies to their would-be lovers or they killed their brothers, husbands and other male relatives and that somehow ended in marriage or at least a one-night-stand. He discarded the second idea as not very smart, opting for hunting instead. Thora was quite fond of her adoptive father, after all.

He had considered many an animal as a proper gift, before settling for a mammoth. The more he thought about it, the more appropriate it sounded. Bears were fine, but he already killed several of them and by now everyone knew he could easily wrestle with them, so that wouldn't be impressive enough. Elk were quite tasty and the antlers looked impressive, but they hunted them regularly anyway.

Most of clan Russ found themselves staring, reactions ranging from utter stupefaction to horrified amusement as Leman Russ returned triumphantly with the gargantuan carcass in tow. True, he had to double back for some help to actually bring it back, but it nevertheless was his catch and so he got to decide what to do with it.

Unfortunately, nothing he knew gave him any idea what was the appropriate thing to say when gifting a woman with a mammoth. In then end, he settled for "It's for you."

Thora looked completely flabbergasted, as she stared at the huge beast. Slowly, other feelings surfaced: she couldn't help but to feel quite flattered. What other girl could say that somebody killed a mammoth for her? Not to mention, her mind was dividing the beast into meals and considering how to best store the meat.

Without any second thoughts, she grabbed Leman's coat and tugged on it, making him bend down. For a moment, she just grinned at his expression, before kissing him. It didn't last too long, since of course somebody had to comment.

Still, she couldn't help but to feel smug later, when talking with the other girls.

{oOo}


	118. Winter Fun

{oOo}

Thora raised an incredulous eyebrow at the slush covered and dripping trio, "What, in the name of Terra, have you three been up to?"

Rogal regarded her with deadpan expression, one shoulder twitch sending some slush to splatter onto the floor at his feet as both her daughter and Azmina continued to grin broadly under damp, tangled masses of hair as they announced gleefully in tandem, "Snow war!"

Azmina then turned to her cousin and her grin became a wistful smile, "A long time since we last had one, huh?"

Rogal nodded a similarly nostalgic look in his eyes, "Almost too long," he agreed, much to Thora's surprise, and young Ulfhild tugged on her white haired uncles sleeve.

"How long?" she queried green eyes blinking up at him curiously.

He looked down at her and pondered that for moment, "Nearly 60 years," he finally said sounding vaguely surprised.

"Waaaay to long," nodded Azmina gravely, making Thora roll her eyes, "Hey," she said with seriousness and focus that was unusual outside of training and battle, "Don't knock it, I wouldn't have gotten as good at being able to judge the structural integrity of buildings and such without it."

{oOo}

"Now," whispered Azmina as she and Ulfhild crouched in a copse of trees just out of range of the icy walls of the impromptu snow fortress built, and manned by her white-haired cousin, "The trick is to correctly gauge the weaknesses of the fortification, and getting to them before those manning it manage it hit you."

Ulfhild nodded dutifully, youthful face serious, "So where are the weak points?"

Her golden-haired aunt grinned fiendishly, "I'll show you, I know Rogal's work very well."

The young girl didn't look much comforted by this as they stealthily crept towards the pale ramparts and began their sabotage.

"There," Azmina settled back on her heels, looking terribly pleased with herself, "Now we do this, and it should…"

Ulfhild's eyes widened abruptly, "Auntie-!"

What Azmina had been saying was cut off by a shriek of surprise and indignation, "ROGAL!"

She burst out of the small avalanche of snow from the collapsing battlements Rogal had somehow managed to direct onto her head.

"Yes, cousin?" he responded mildly, not entirely hiding a faint smirk.

Azmina glared furiously, but none-the-less managed to reply civilly, "You're still good at that," she noted blandly.

"Of course," he said amiably, before jerking in surprise at the snowball hit him on the side of head, and was confronted by his innocently blinking niece, "Strike when they least expect it?" she offered helpfully, as Azmina laughed hysterically.

His mouth twitched into a faint smile, "True," he then bent down and scooped up some snow, "Shall we?"

"Uh huh!" Ulfhild grinned, sharp teeth gleaming, scooping up some of her own.

Azmina's eyes widened, "Don't you dare!" as she lunged for a nearby snowdrift to get out of their aiming and to gather some snow of her own.

{oOo}

AN: Written by this humble archivist, set during the Great Crusade, likely not *too* long after Azmina and Rogal where discovered.


	119. Visions in Red IV

{oOo}

Ira had appeared when she wanted to and where she wanted to, just like a cat. On some days he found her in the libraries or on his way to the academies. On others, she was nowhere to be found. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was doing this to appeal to his curiosity and his vanity was rather pleasantly tickled at the thought. Still, his mind couldn't rest until he was certain of the cause.

He needed to know.

"You don't seem to follow any pattern in your visits here," he said, when he caught her next in the esoteric section of the library he was currently frequenting.

"But you do," she answered a small smile playing on her lips.

"I suppose you can call visiting daily a pattern," he conceded. "Are you looking for anything specific? Perhaps I could be of assistance?"

She arched her eyebrows quizzically. "We don't know each other that well…"

He had not accepted her to refuse and so for a moment, Magnus was completely dumbfounded. Still, he found his wits quickly enough, replying with only a brief moment of hesitation, "You don't need to know me very well, for me to direct you towards the books you are looking for, do you?"

She laughed. "No, no I don't."

"And we could probably get acquainted better on our way," he added.

"That is also true," Ira agreed. "Very well then. I need to find something on psykers and healing."

Magnus nodded, searching his memory for any such tomes. It didn't take long, before he was confidently leading her towards the shelves in the rightmost corner, where he recalled such books could be found.

"Why exactly are you interested in this topic?" he asked, as they stopped in front of the shelves.

She shrugged, before answering matter-of-factly, "Someone I will meet will have such powers. I want to know what to expect exactly."

She gathered a few books, leafing through them and Magnus knew the conversation was over—at least for now. He retreated to search for his own reading materials and spent quite a lot of time debating with himself how not to borrow to whole library.

As he was leaving, he caught the sight of black hair, but it was just a glimpse and then it was gone. He was somewhat disappointed, having hoped to find out more. His chagrin did not last long as suddenly there was a presence almost under his elbow that had not been there before.

"I think lunch would be better for getting to know each other," Ira said, looking up at him with a satisfied smirk.

{oOo}

AN: And back to Prospero before Magnus and Ira where found by the Emperor.


	120. Visions in Red V

{oOo}

Magnus was prepared for a lot of things, but there were limits. One of them was finding a crow sitting in front of his book, thoughtfully turning the pages.

"IS THIS SOME TRICK?" he demanded, his voice raising a bit too high for his liking. He was not hysterical, just surprised. And the crow was looking at him with disapproval, quite an amazing feat considering it didn't really have a mimic to speak of.

"Really," Ira sighed, emerging from his—their bedroom clad in a gown he would have found very interesting in any other situation. "You can accept incorporeal beings from another dimension and the fact that you were cloned in a laboratory in another star system, but a reading crow is too much for you?"

"Crows don't read," Magnus said weakly. "They're not even—what's one doing on Prospero? I'm pretty sure they were not brought here by the colonists."

His gaze wandered to the window and he moaned, "Another one. Where did they come from?"

"They're mine," Ira said, gently rubbing the feathers on the second crow. "They're very good friends. Be nice to them, I listen to their opinion."

She smiled at him, her face slightly dreamy and Magnus felt that perhaps he was over-reacting. Besides, if they could read, they should able to write and that meant communication. Finding out how it is to be a crow sounded fascinating.

{oOo}

AN: And here is the introduction of two unappreciated SM characters, readers of the manga may know who they are, and this is set back on Prospero before Magnus and Ira where found.


	121. Revelations

{oOo}

Lorgar blinked at the young girl peering over the other Primachs shoulder. Shaking off his surprise, he smiled warmly, grey eyes kind, "And she is…?" he glanced at his new brother questioningly.

"My sister," Mortarion said simply, and Persephone smiled shyly, waving.

"He looks nice, like Uncle Sanguinius," she whispered in Mortarion's ear, making him smile faintly.

Lorgar's brow furrowed in confusion, having missed what she had said.

"Introduce youself," Mortarion chided fondly.

Blushing, the dark eyed girl murmured "Hello Uncle Lorgar, my name is Persephone, nice to meet you," before ducking behind Mortarion's head.

"…Uncle?" said Lorgar faintly, not expecting that.

His gaunt brother gave him a quizzical look, "That is what she calls those of us who aren't me," he affirmed.

"I see…" Lorgar appeared to be reflecting on it.

Mortarion frowned.

The golden skinned Primarch caught that look and said quickly, "I'm not offended, just… surprised," his smile was self-depreciating, "I think I might like being called 'Uncle'."

Persephone appeared again, her smile small but more brilliant than shy this time, making Lorgar start in surprise.

Mortarion stifled a smirk, _'Persephone 1, Lorgar 0'_

Gathering himself, though somewhat more slowly this time, Lorgar asked curiously, "How did you come to adopt her?"

The girl in question piped up while wrapping her arms around Mortarion's neck in a hug, "He found me in a forest when I was baby~"

Lorgar regarded Mortarion thoughfully and earned a look of bland stoicism in response.

{oOo}

AN: Set pre-Heresy, and poor Persephone how wrong he will prove you... And yes, Mortarion knows of her Absolute Moe Field, not that it helps him.


	122. The Game IV

{oOo}

Jaghatai, Esin and Leman were making sure all players had adequate bikes at hand. Which also meant a little strategy session between brothers, while Esin was away at the other end of the garage taking care of a couple of small mechanical problems with the Marines' bikes.

Jaghatai leaned over the bike he got for Leman, one of his spares, and hastily whispered.

"Whatever you do, don't let Esin get the Halal."

"Why?" Leman said, looking over his head towards the blonde Senshi.

"It doesn't look like it, but those flimsy little things she rides are damn fast. If she gets the Halal away from us, we can not even hope to catch her, short of an ambush on her way back. It is better to keep it away from her."

The Fenrisian looked doubtful. "She's damn nimble though." He said, scratching his beard in thought, as he stared at Esin. "Might need something drastic to do that."

Jaghatai pulled his brother's beard to keep his eyes on the bike. "Eyes down here. Look, the fork is the best part for it." He pointed at the part in question. "A swift kick, and you can disrupt her balance, or even break the triple tree if you are lucky. If you can't reach it, just kick her off the bike. Just don't let her get away with the Halal." He sighed. "Just make sure you don't go overboard. If she breaks something serious Serenity will kill us... And Amphithoe would probably do worse."

Leman chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't hurt her much. At least I'll try... Oh crap."

Jaghatai looked up at the disappointed tone of his brother, and seeing the look in his eyes, turned his head... only to notice Lion El'Jonson walking towards them. He almost sighed in disappointment, for his (a lot more sensible... and sane) brother was probably here to stop them... but then he noticed the smirk on his face, and the grinning loons behind him. An answering grin stretched his face, and he rose.

"Welcome, brother. Something in your manner tells me you intend to join us in our little afternoon entertainment."

Lion made a face, and punched his arm as he passed him by. "Stop talking like Roboute. Yes, these clowns..." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the two White Scars marines behind him. "Told me about it. We set up a pole using a holoprojector I got for them." Jaghatai nodded in approval. A normal pole would not last. "But I want in. Sounds like fun."

"Of course." Leman said, rising from behind the bike and pulling the cover off from another Primarch-sized one. "This gets more fun by the minute." He sighed wistfully. "I wish Angron was here."

Lion and Jaghatai shared a horrified look. Finally, Jaghatai hesitantly answered. "Leman, we will probably cause enough damage between three of us. If Angron was here, Father would have needed a new palace by the end of the day."

Leman shook his head in resignation. "You're right. Rogal will probably blow a gasket anyway. If Angron was here, I don't think he would survive seeing the result... or we would survive him seeing it."

At the mention of Rogal Dorn, three brothers shared a hesitant look. After a moment, Lion El'Jonson shook his head. "Naah, how bad can it be?"

Somewhere deep in the palace, Rogal Dorn shuddered in sudden terror.

{oOo}

AN: Aaand Khuzdul is back with some more of 'The Game' arc, poor Rogal, eh?


	123. Thunder and Snow

{oOo}

Captain Thonn has many tales for his grandchildren. He was the luckiest man in the regiment after all. He told them about the grey fields of Ascon, where the Imperium had fought want of the lost strands of humanity. He told them about the Seventh Moon of Liara and how he nearly died there, fighting the Dark Eldar. One story among the many was one he and his grandchildren loved most. It was of the day when he had seen Senshi Jupiter and Primarch Russ on the battlefield.

It was only from afar. They were fighting against Orks, his regiment providing support fire with their tanks for the Astartes. The greenskins had somehow gotten to them and had managed to disable several of the machines, when suddenly the tide turned.

He was nearly blinded when the trucks carrying the orks all but exploded. A curtain of lightning appeared before them, the stench of burning ork flesh filling the air. The ork assault halted, the xenos showing an amazing amount of sense and turning to run.

They didn't get too far. The roar of lightning had masked the sound until now, but Thonn had finally heard it: a howl, issues by many throats. The lightning finally died down and the after images died down in Thonn's eyes.

He saw the Space Wolves, their charge matching the savagery of the orks. Among them, one figure stood out: a giant, with red hair, tied into many braids, he towered over the warriors. Despite the size, his movement was swift and fluid. In a way, he was much like a wolf, but to Thonn he was even more like a snowstorm: cold and deadly.

The orks did not stand a chance. They fought. Orks always fought, but it brought them nothing.

Russ cut them down almost contemptuously, his monstrous runeblade dancing like a striking cobra. Then, Thonn realized that Senshi Jupiter was among the Wolves. Her strikes were marked by crackle and flashes of lightning, as she leapt and smote the greenskins with her hammer.

It was barely a moment, then the tide of battle swept the two living legends away from Thonn's sight, but remained burned into his mind. He could still recall how the charms and pelt swung with Russ's every move or how Jupiter's braid trailed behind her like the tail of a comet.

He never told that to anyone, but sometimes he saw them in the snowstorms, when lightning struck.

{oOo}


	124. The Wolf and the Rose IV

{oOo}

Leman frowned at Thengir, "Where is Thora?"

Thengir had to pause to match a name to face before he chuckled, "Ah your caretaker girl, she has been selected for training by the Skjald-shamans."

The large young man blinked in surprise, "She is like them?"

Thengir nodded, "They say she will likely be the strongest they have ever seen, like she has the Storm in her blood."

Leman looked torn between pride and worry, earning a light cuff across from broad shoulder from the old king, "From what I have heard, she has a strong spirit, as any of our clan should have, and she learns quickly, so bury that concern, boy."

{oOo}

Thora's smile was amused, "I'm not going to sprout fangs or scales, you know," she poked his cheek, making him grumble-growl.

"I don't like it," he muttered grumpily

"I understand," she nodded, before tugging open her belt-pouch, "I made this for you, though." She held up a smoothed piece of bone on a leather thong, and pressed it into his hands.

Surprised he turned it over, and saw a carving on it, "…Runes?"

"Yes, a bindrune, made from the runes in my name," she added, "Though it has not been properly treated, so it has no power other than what the runes have by themselves."

He looked at her, making her cheeks pinken slightly, "I thought you would like it." She tugged one of the trailing braids bound her hair into its high ponytail, slightly embarrassed.

He smiled, then asked more curiously, "What do they mean?"

She lent forward and traced the first of the runes, shaped vaguely like a 'p', "_Thurisaz_, for 'thorn' or 'giant'," she smirked lightly, "The force of destruction and defence, directed by will and instinct, conflict, change, a cleansing fire."

The second rune, shaped like an angular '8' with the bottom quarter cut off, "_Othala,_ for the property of our ancestors, the safety, prosperity and abundance of the clan, the clan's spirit-heritage."

The third, shaped like and angular 'R', "_Raidho_, the wagon, for journeys and change, seeing the whole so you may know the right path to take in life."

The fourth and final rune, shaped like an 'F' with the horizontal lines set at diagonals, "And _Ansuz_, the ancestral spirit, for the power of words and names, understanding, truth, communication and insight."

Leman looked thoughtful, "…You have a strong name," he said after a few moments, his tone approving.

Thora smiled, "A proper name for a strong spirit like mine, they said."

{oOo}


	125. Adversity

{oOo}

A metal-shod fist crunched into the rockcrete wall and reduced what was trapped in its fingers to fine powder.

"Aren't you tired of these false hopes?" said Corax in his quiet voice to the crestfallen figure of this brother

Ferrus Manus was silent, but withdrew his hand from the wall sending a shower of dust and debris to his feet, and turned to walk out the abandoned facility, Corax moving rapidly to his brother's side.

"We _will_ find him," growled Ferrus, face tight.

"Sooner or later," agreed the dark-eyed Primarch gravely before thinking to himself, _'Soon I hope, for your sake as well as Fulgrim's, how much more can you take?'_

His thoughts then turned to their lost brother, _'Nearly 300 years he's been looking for you, Fulgrim, not letting himself give up, the depredations of that… thing wearing your face, our sisters grief and the rumours that you betrayed us in truth have only goaded him.'_

He glanced out the corner of his eye at his grim faced companion, _'None dare speak such things in range of her ears, never mind ours, not any more,'_ Corax's fingers flexed, thinking darkly of the last fool who tried to do so.

{oOo}

Ferrus' gleaming fist crushed the tankard he had been drinking from in a tortured sound of shattering glass and crumpling metal.

"Uncle Ferrus?"

He looked down into a young face, one framed by fiery scarlet hair.

He grimaced, craggy features deepening, "Amunet-"

"You'll find him," said his young niece, looking up at him too-wise eyes, her brow puckered in concern and patted his knee.

{oOo}


	126. The New Addition

{oOo}

"May I?"

Tekhne laughed quietly at the eager inquisitiveness on her nieces face, and reached out to take her hand and pressed it against her swelling belly.

A spark of cool life trilled through Amunet's fingers, waking her eyes widen in surprise, "Oh…!"

Tekhne gave her a curious look.

"She feels like you."

"She?" Tekhne was bemused

Amunet's flush was barely noticeable against her dusky skin, "Ah, sorry, I opened my mouth without thinking again, didn't I?"

Tekhne smiled warmly and patted the redhead's arm soothingly, "I don't mind being told, and I was expecting a girl, from the previous evidence," her eyes glinted with good-natured humour.

{oOo}

Two pairs of eyes, one green and purple gazed down at their new cousin, the owner of the purple eyes making silly faces.

The infant gave them what could only be described as an 'I-am-most-unimpressed' look.

Amunet laughed, a broad grin spreading across her face, Ulfhild's smile was a bit more restrained but still present, "That was so Uncle Perturabo!" observed Amunet.

Ulfhild tapped the blue haired babies nose fondly and murmured, "Play nice, little cousin."

Sophia sneezed.

"Awww," Amunet melted, "So cute~"

Ulfhild gave her an amused look.

Amunet childishly blew a raspberry at her elder cousin, "Hush, leave me be Ulfi."

Fenris' regent shook her head, "How is Uncle Fulgrim?"

Amunets smile faded a bit, "Better without that… _medicine_, my mindwalking helps some but…" her eyes where slightly haunted, in rememberance at the memories that had slipped into her mind from her uncle's.

Ulfhild winced, "Still that bad?"

Stalling, Amunet regarded the now frowning Sophia and brushed a finger over her forehead soothingly.

"Its hard, but I will help him get better," her voice was quiet but firm, face determined.

Ulfhild chuckled, "Channelling Uncle Ferrus?"

Amunet's returning look was lofty, "I might be," she said haughtily, nose up-turned.

{oOo}

AN: Takes place roughly two decades, or so, after Fulgrim's rescue from the painting.


	127. Knowledge

{oOo}

"Cousin Amunet," greeted the blue haired young girl calmly.

The redhead was bemused, _'If that was anybody but her, that would sound pompous, aww.' _But she smiled, and ruffled her younger cousin's hair, cheerfully ignoring the vexed look, "Hello Sophia, how have you been since your last visit?"

Frowning and compulsively smoothing her hair, Sophia said, "I have been well…"

"I hear a 'but'."

Sophia's cheeks puffed in annoyance and grumbled, "Father is being silly again, he says I'm too young to help out with lab work, but Mother says its fine if I'm careful and somebody is watching."

Amunet poked her forehead lightly, "He's only like that because he loves you and worries, silly."

Sophia continued to grumble.

"And aha, that reminds me~" Amunet dug in the pockets of her mantle and pulled out a thick book triumphantly, "I got this for you."

Catching a look at the title Sophia's eyes brightened and gained an avaricious edge, "…Isaac Avicenna's _Light and Matter_?" She said hopefully, hands twitching.

The violet-eyed woman laughed holding out the book in question, "Yes, and its for you."

Sophia snatched it with unseemly haste and hugged it close, then after a seconds deliberation hugged her cousin, "Thank you," she said beaming.

Amunet returned the hug, "Aww, no need to thank me~"

{oOo}


	128. Aftermath

{oOo}

"Father?"

Jaghatai Khan looked up, and Aydilge's breath caught in her throat. Her father looked... aged. She quickly gathered herself, suppressing the sob emerging from her throat at the sight of the naked pain in her father's eyes viciously, and sedately walked across the room to her father's side.

Khan watched his daughter cross the marble floor with silent steps with a stony expression. She reminded him of her mother, the tall, proud steppe woman that was as vicious as a tiger when her ire was aroused, but gentle as a kitten in the tender moments in the privacy of their yurt. Aydilge (Beautiful moon faerie in the ancient language of his people) carried the same catlike grace, which tempered the tall, wide-shouldered stature she inherited from him. Her honey colored hair and steel gray eyes, rare among the steppe nomads, was also her mother's legacy, but the sharp edge of her jaw and the large, almond eyes, intimidating on her father's face but enchantingly beautiful on her, displayed without doubt that she was Khan's daughter. Her mother's ashes probably blew across the scorched plains of his homeworld like the rest of his family, he bitterly reminisced, then shook his head and rose to his feet as she came to a stop a respectful distance from him and acquired the formal, subservient pose expected from a daughter in the presence of the head of her clan.

A bitter, knifelike smile flashed for a moment across Jaghatai's sharp features. "Please, daughter mine." He said, walking around the desk. "I think this is one moment we can dispense with the formalities."

He then leaned against the front edge of the desk, and opened his arms. "Come here, Moonlight."

Aydilge almost gasped. Khan had not called her that since... since the times she was but a babe hiding behind the skirts of her mother, when this "Father" thing that they talked about came from the stars in a big, noisy, metal contraption. She remembered that day, clearly, hiding behind her mother as the metal box settled on flexing legs, and the hatch at the back dropped, and a huge man, that made her burrow deeper into the multilayered skirts that promised safety, stepped out, being pushed forward toward the intimidating man, him smiling down at her, how warm that smile looked, an extended hand almost as big as her torso, "Come here, Moonlight..."

She did not even remember how she got into the circle of her father's arms, or when did she start crying. A momentary thought of 'how inappropriate' flashed through her head, and she tried to pull back and wipe her tears, for a Khan's daughter shall not show her weakness, but arms as thick as tree trunks but as gentle as a summer breeze tightened around her, and everything was forgotten as she poured out her grief in the welcoming warmth.

"They are gone, Father." Her voice was broken by sobs, but the Khan clearly understood each word, as they are hammered into his heart. "Mother, and Börte, and Bogac, and uncle Saltuk, and Turgut, and little Gülçiçek, and aunt Yildiz, and aunt Esin... Why did this happen to us Father? What did they do? Why? Why did this happen?"

"Nothing, Moonlight." Khan's voice was heavy. "Heavy is the head that carries the crown, daughter. And this is part of that weight, that price. The only thing they did was being my family, and that made them targets." His voice sharpened. "It was my responsibility to protect them, and I failed, simple as that. And it is I who shall carry the weight of their vengeance."

"Father, no." Aydilge protested, yet it was feeble. She knew her voice alone would not get through to the stubborn Khan. She instead burrowed deeper into his arms, burying her face into his chest. "Just..." She said finally, "just don't forget us the living, father."

"I shall not." was the distant reply, as the Khan buried his nose in his daughter's sweet smelling hair. The eyes that looked over the honey colored locks were hard as steel.

{oOo}

AN: More of Jaghatai from Khuzdul.


	129. Taking Stock

{oOo}

The dimly lit room, deep in the bowels of the Imperial Palace, was silent. The table in the middle of the room was surrounded by ten chairs. At the head of the table, one large, reinforced chair held the impressive bulk of a fully armored Primarch, wearing the alabaster armor of the White Scars legion. His dark hair was shaved, leaving only a single lock on top that formed a ponytail that went down to his neck. His face was viciously scarred, and his skin was coarse like leather. His eyes carried pain, but burned with the fires of rage. His chin rested on his fist, covered in a gauntlet.

Four of the chairs were filled with younger men, each with the characteristic black hair of their father. Unlike the stony expression the Primarch carried, the faces of the younger wolves were more open, lacking the discipline of millenia. The oldest among them, Baikal, grinded his teeth. He was one of the sons of Jaghatai's long dead first wife, Narinçiçek, youngest of them, actually, and he was the oldest person in the room save his father. His black hair was styled like his father's, but it was speckled with a couple of silver threads, threads that appeared in greater numbers in his full beard, but he had the golden colored eyes of his mother. He was one of the senior Captains of the White Scars. His gauntleted hand was tight on the edge of the table, producing a faint crackling sound.

Second oldest was Ataman, also the sole non-Marine among the males, wearing the robes of an Imperial Inquisitor. His sharp, grey eyes were glinting like the steel of a dagger blade, and his luxurious black mane and full mustache, quivering with barely suppressed rage, were untainted with the white of his brother's hair. He was the thinker of the family, and Jaghatai can see the gears turning behind his eyes. Actually, Ataman scared him the most... but it would be impossible to know what future would bring.

Third was a lot younger than his two brothers. Sangar wore the armor of a White Scars sergeant, and with slight, amused disapproval Jaghatai noted the grease smudges on the gauntlets. He was the tinkerer, in love with speed. He was also impulsive, energetic: Like his mother, who burned with the planet they all called homeworld. His stillness was worrying, for he was usually constantly fidgeting, but he looked drained and sullen.

Fourth was one of the youngest among the occupants of the room: Artai wore the armor of a scout. He was barely fourteen, still an initiate. His face was the worst, lacking the discipline of his older brothers, rage and depression warred in his expression. His eyes were clouded. He looked like a rabid wolf, straining at the chains.

Angron... if anyone can get through to him...

His head then turned towards the end of the table. At the end seat, sat his sole surviving wife. Balkiz was one of the daughters of the governor of one of Chogoris' equatorial cities. He chose her in a feast in his honor during one of his last visits to the planet, and decided to take her with him after the wedding for a change. It turned out to be her saving grace: She was the only one constantly by his side during the tumultous decades of the Heresy, and by a twist of fortune, the sole survivor among his wives, when most of them perishing on Chogoris, and only two other than Balkiz off the planet getting caught in the attack on the Imperial palace along with two of his sons and three daughters, the youngest barely two. He was still unaware of their exact fates, as the only one who really seemed to know, Alta, was quite reluctant to explain it, stating only that they perished in the fighting. He did not press, sensing the pain the memory inflicted on the stoic Senshi, but her reluctance told a tale of its own.

A tale that made Jaghatai sure that he would be wringing Lorgar's neck personally the next time he saw the traitorous waste of flesh, no matter what Serenity said.

Still the petite, formidable young woman he married scant months before the entire tumult started, and who lost everything right alongside him when the planet she called home, the city her father ruled and her family lived in, got destroyed by the traitors, displayed a surprising amount of strength since the news of Esin's assassination arrived, and in the weeks since the news about Chogoris came. She was barely into her thirties, with her copper colored hair still luxurious and free of any silver, her ivory skin free of blemishes and her topaz colored almond eyes vibrant with life. She had became his harbor in the storm that followed. She endured his darkest rages, his deepest depression, his coldest fury, and came through every time, never leaving his side. Sometimes he wondered if he owed his survival to her.

Next to her, sat his oldest surviving daughter, Aydilge. She was one of the older ones in the room, a daughter of one of his earlier wives, yet she still looked in her mid-twenties due to the vitality the blood of a Primarch gave her. She was of the same mother as Ataman, a decade his junior, and her gaze carried a wariness when she looked at her brother. Aydilge had always been one of his favorites, as much as he tried to avoid playing favorites, from the moment he first met her on the shuttlepad on Chogoris when she was but three years old. She shared the formidable brain of her brother, but turned it less into suspicion and more into understanding people... especially her father. She was a devoted daughter, and she had proven herself countless times as a very able aide and secretary, keeping his hectic schedule in order and riding herd on him, much to the amusement of her mother and his other wives, and of course Esin. But she was subdued now, and he hated seeing her subdued, with the glint of amusement absent from her eyes.

'One more strike against you, Lorgar. I will gut you like the swine you are, if just for stealing the light from my Moonlight's eyes.'

The following three seats were filled with his other surviving daughters. The seat next to Aydilge was occupied by fiery haired Feraye, just seventeen. She was also the reason her two sisters survived, for she somehow gotten through to his viceroy he left behind and gotten permission to leave Chogoris to have her two younger sisters meet their father for the first time, as he was quite far away and unlikely to make it back to the homeworld before they became adults.

The reason for the trip were the two dark haired, dark eyed young girls, twins, barely twelve, and the youngest in the room, sitting between Feraye and Jaghatai: Ahu and Maral. They were almost huddled together, curled into themselves, their large, almond shaped black eyes looking with fear at the world surrounding them, for the ship that carried them and Feraye barely escaped the onslaught of Night Lords ships that rained on Chogoris barely a couple of hours after they left. Theirs were the eyes that watched, almost uncomprehending, the glare of missiles raining on the only home they knew. Jaghatai longed to take them into his arms, swear that their father would protect them, but he could not. For it would be a lie, for he already failed once already, and as he lowered his eyes to his hands gripping the edge of the table, inhaling deeply. "What is the latest news?" He asked.

"It is confirmed, Father." Aydilge started. "No survivors at h... on Chogoris. The planet is completely burned. The orbital habitats are shattered. The moon colonies and the mining stations were bombarded, and searches did not return any survivors. Kursad Tigin requests permission to abandon the search."

"Granted." Jaghatai answered in a wooden voice. "What about the Legion, Baikal?"

"Similar, Father." The oldest son answered, pain twisting in his voice like a jagged knife. "Three battlebarges were in orbit when the attack hit. One of them was Mete's. They gave as good as they got, but the traitors were too numerous. No survivors. Training facilities in the second planet of the system were also hit. Orhun and Taigar were there. Bastards bombarded them from orbit. No survivors. Reports are still getting in from other battlegroups, but the attacks were widespread." His voice faltered. "I am sorry, father. We don't know. We... we went..."

"Enough." The Khan's voice was not chastising. "None of you were responsible for this atrocity, nor the deaths of our kin. I was their Khan, their protector, their father, their husband." His voice was bitter, broken, almost. None of them, maybe save Balkiz, who endured his countless bouts of depression, and Aydilge, who never left the side of her father through the worst days, saw him like this. "It was my responsibility. I failed to..."

"Jaghatai."

Shock silenced the great Khan. No one addressed the Khan by his given name in the company of others, nor interrupted him. Yet when his eyes turned to the figure across the table, they met a burning, chastising topaz gaze. "The girls." Balkiz warned. Jaghatai Khan turned to the side, and noticed that his two youngest children were weeping silently, afraid of... no, afraid for their father. His twisted features relaxed, and he reached to them, gathering them in his arms. Aydilge made a move to get up, but Balkiz stopped her with a firm hand. The Khan was silent for a minute as his daughters burrowed into his chest. He then breathed deeply, getting himself under control. "We shall survive." He finally stated, then his eyes caught the gazes of his sons. "And we shall have vengeance."

{oOo}

AN: And some more of Jaghatai and his family.


	130. The Hunt

{oOo}

The Emperor and Rogal Dorn were walking down one of the palatial hallways of the Imperial palace, discussing a construction project proposed on Ganymede, when they noticed a low sound as they approached a corner. Rogal fell silent and looked towards the Emperor, who shrugged and rounded the corner...

...only to meet his granddaughter nose to chest. With a blink of amusement, Rogal Dorn watched Jaghatai's daughter bounce off the Master of Mankind's broad chest, taking a couple of catlike steps to regain her balance, and turn around with an absentminded murmur of "Sorry, Grandpa." She tried to move around them, murmuring to herself irritably, her eyes never leaving the datapad in her hands.

"Where did he disappear now? Dignitaries from Kaster Prime will be here in half an hour and he was supposed to meet them in the South Wing conference room, but he is away gallivanting again, I swear the man would forget which day of the week he's on if I wasn't around..."

The Emperor threw an exasparated glance at Rogal, who silently chuckled. A frazzled Aydilge was not a rare sight in the hallways of the Imperial Palace, for Jaghatai frequently got bored with all the duties and functions of the daily life of the Imperial family, and disappeared somewhere, requiring his daughter to chase him down and make him obey the schedule she set up and tracked for him.

"Aydilge." The Master of Mankind gently called, as the distracted girl sought a way around the two massive men blocking his path. "Aydilge."

"What!" Her first irritable reaction was followed by an embarrassed flush as she looked up and met the amused gaze of her grandfather (and that, was the title he was proud of the most, thank you very much) "Ah, I apologize, my lord. I was preoccupied." Then she remembered what she was doing a moment ago, and her first, distracted apology percolated through her brain, and her flush deepened, triggering a laugh from the serious Imperial Fists Primarch. The Emperor, on the other hand, smiled gently and laid a hand on his granddaughter's shoulder, silencing her stammered apologies.

"Jaghatai disappeared again, didn't he?"

"No, my lord, I was just going to get him, he is just over... there..." She finished uncertainly, ending with a hopeful additional "There?" that sounded a bit too high to be believeable. She then threw a glare at his white haired uncle who was having all too much fun at her expense, then noticed what she did and flushed once more, eliciting fresh guffaws of laughter from the Primarch.

The Emperor chuckled and plucked the datapad out of her hands, deftly avoiding her feeble attempts to recapture it. He noted the appointment and the hour, then called one of the Custodes guards nearby.

"Send a message to the Custodes around the palace. Order them to locate Jaghatai and send him to..." He checked the pad again. "South conference room, as soon as possible. Tell him it is my order, and he is not allowed to avoid it or skive off." The Custodes guard nodded affirmative and rushed off, passing the orders along using his helmet vox. The Emperor then turned to his wayward son's frazzled daughter. "You look like hell, girl. How long have you been looking for him?"

"Just... half an hour?"

The Emperor threw a mild glare.

"Three hours, my lord." Aydilge admitted, looking down. Her stomach chose that moment to protest about the lunch she missed.

The Emperor threw an arm around Aydilge's shoulders, tucking her neatly between himself and Rogal to keep her from scampering off. "It seems I find myself craving some snacks, son."

"I can do with a bite myself." The Imperial Fists Primarch answered, falling into step next to his father and his niece.

"Off to the kitchens, then. I think the cooks even have some rice pudding lying around." The Emperor said, chuckling lightly as his granddaughter perked up.

"Rice pudding?"

"Come on, girl." Rogal said, still laughing. "Let's get you something to eat before you get to grilling your father."

{oOo}


	131. The Vengeful Huntress

{oOo}

Joral was a ravaged world. The scene of another rampage by Night Lord traitors, the planet was covered with shattered ruins of hives once prosperous. When the world was first attacked by the host of Chaos, blood ran freely in the streets, and pyres lit up the skies. Now, it was but a bleak landscape of endless ruins, over which an endless pall of smoke-fed clouds poured a greasy drizzle of rain ceaselessly.

Through the ruined streets of Joral, Kelmak fled.

His first memory of this world was one of triumph, as he and his fellow traitors marched on to the governor's palace, where they gutted the elderly governor and defiled the poor man's family gleefully, before murdering them as sacrifices to their profane gods.

But now all his thoughts on this planet were marked with terror.

He was the last. His band of sixteen Chaos marines survived the first Imperial reprisal, the assault of White Scars, their throughout search through the ruins, and even the farewell bombardment they sent down as they left the ruined and depopulated world. They planned to sanctify this world in the name of their masters, summon a demon on its funeral pyre, and turn it into a daemon world.

Yet, soon they learned that the White Scars left something behind.

Whatever that thing is, it was hunting them ceaselessly since the day of White Scar retreat. Them, the remaining cultists, any traitor Guardsman that hid out with them. They first banded together for protection. But it did not work. It just herded them, snapped at their heels, slashed off the weak, the unwary, the slow from their ranks. The Marines were not worried; weak did not deserve the gifts of Chaos anyway.

But then, slowly but surely, over several days, all their non-superhuman allies perished one by one. A knife in the night. A bullet from an unseen rifle. A poisoned arrow.

In the end, naught was left but the sixteen Marines. They were not worried. For were they not the chosen of Chaos Gods? Did they not carry the strength of ten men, were they not beyond any single human being?

Then they started dying.

It took no longer than a week for the entire band to perish, while the unseen predator drove them to the ruins of the capital city. The last of the band fell at the gates of the fallen city, where a loop of razor wire, thrown from the rubble of the gatehouse, decapitated him.

It was the first time Kelmak saw the hunter that dogged their steps. A figure in white armor, too small to be a Marine. Yet it was but a flash, then it was gone.

Kelmak had fled in terror, towards the ruins of the city.

After that, glimpses of the armor drove him ever onward. Kelmak understood that he was being herded somewhere. But he was too terrified not to run, too afraid to stand up and fight.

His stumbling steps brought him suddenly to a wide open plaza. Kelmak recognized this: It was the Government plaza. The steps leading up to the Governor's Palace main doors. He rushed towards them, hoping for a bit of cover.

As he climbed the first steps, he looked up, then froze.

The hunter stood at the top of the stairs. The armor, now that he can see it clearly, was decidedly feminine. It resembled the armor worn by Adepta Sororitas, but it did not carry the markings of any of their orders.

It was pure white, bone white, and it was marked by a single sigil: A yellow lightning bolt on the shoulder.

Despair welled up in Kelmak's chest. A White Scar. But why would a woman in Sororitas armor carry a White Scars sigil? No matter. Now that he could see his foe, he can slay him.

He raised his sole remaining weapon, a chainsword, and charged, yelling profane warcries.

Yet his charge was all too quickly cut short, as first, his foe disappeared in a blur, and then, he felt a blade sliding between the plates of his armor into his kidneys. With a gasp, he fell to his knees. He felt deft fingers running along the rim of his helmet, deactivating the pressure seals. His helmet was pulled off roughly, spilling his lank black hair and scarred face.

When he looked up, he came eye to eye with the featureless lenses of the power armor's helmet. Then, a slender hand pulled the helmet off, and he finally saw the face of his executioner.

Honey blonde hair spilled over a heart shaped, pale, emotionless face. Gray, almond shaped eyes, glinting like steel daggers, glared at him through bangs of disheveled hair. Kelmak absently noted that the exotic face would have been lovely, something to savor in other circumstances.

Now, though, it only evoked sheer terror in him.

"Who are you? What are you?" were the words that tumbled out of his mouth involuntarity.

"I am the daughter of a murdered mother, sister of a murdered brother, last of a butchered line, the child of a destroyed world. I am your worst nightmare, traitor. I am the daughter of the Khan!" With a flash, the blade at the figure's side swung and tore into his side with the whine characteristic of a power weapon. He felt it tore through his armor, his flesh, and his hearts.

As the light went out from his eyes, he saw her lean closer, then, almost lovingly whisper in his ear.

"Aydilge. Remember that name. Tell that name to your masters. That is the name of the woman that will end their miserable existence."

{oOo}

Aydilge walked out of the ruined veranda of the palace, into the pouring rain. She looked up to the overcast sky, letting the drops of filthy rainwater wash tears off. She closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. Then she clicked her vox unit.

"I am done, Father."

{oOo}


	132. The Vengeful Huntress II

{oOo}

_"I am done, Father."_

Jaghatai Khan clicked the voxcaster off, then leaned back. The Astartes surrounding him almost flinched when they noticed the despair clouding his face.

Baikal Tigin, Khan's oldest child opened his mouth as if to say something, only to fall silent at his father's raised hand.

"Send down a Thunderhawk." The Khan ordered. "And leave me."

The Marines and naval officers surrounding him filed out. Baikal almost disobeyed and remained, but finally relented, and followed them.

When the room was finally empty, a voice sounded from one darkened corner.

"How long will you keep pandering to her rages?"

"What do you suggest I do, brother?" Khan's voice was bitter, sharp like a knife, but it was obvious he immediately regretted snapping. A tall, dark haired shape sporting midnight blue armor, a rare sight on a White Scars ship, appeared from the darkness. Yet this shape was taller and broader than even a Space Marine, and the ornate, custom made armor displayed that the occupant was a Primarch, a member of the Imperial family, and the winged skull identified the wearer as Konrad Curze, Primarch of Night Lords.

"Shall I restrain her? Shall I order her to stay behind? Shall I refuse her her hunt? Shall I foster resentment in her, in addition to rage?" The Khan went on, calmer, but not by much.

Konrad breathed deeply as he approached his brother. As he came closer, Jaghatai Khan turned away from the vox console. He laid a hand on his steppe raised brother's strong shoulder. "I don't know, Jaghatai. But when will this end? When she challenges a greater Daemon? When she leads a crusade to the Eye? When she personally goes against Lorgar and gets killed? Or will it end when she falls? I have seen her. She avoids me, and I see hate in her eyes when she looks at me. She avoids Serenity, and I see the resentment, since our sister still thinks Lorgar is redeemable. She even avoids Father, to keep him from seeing her anger. She is getting lost in her anger, Jaghatai, and unlike your youngest son, this is not the kind you deal with by shipping her off to Angron."

A fist smashing the durasteel wall, denting it, interrupted Curze. Jaghatai turned away, shrugging off his brother's hand and pacing the bridge in frustration. "Do you think I am blind, Konrad? I ask you again, what shall I do? Tell me." His voice sounded almost broken. "Tell me brother, for I do not know!"

Konrad was stunned. He did not even consider that his brother was as impotent as he obviously is. He thought Jaghatai pandered to Aydilge's rage as a way to vent his own. But it seemed that the girl's rage took a life of its own, and her father was as powerless to stop it as anyone else. Hesitatingly, he approached Jaghatai.

"Maybe I can..."

"She will kill you." Jaghatai answered flatly.

"What?" was the sole, stunned answer Konrad can muster.

"She is not even aware what is happening to her. But if you try to get her to stop, she will think you are trying to protect the murderers of her family. And she will kill you."

The sort of rage Jaghatai talked about was not foreign to Konrad. Or at least, not to the Night Haunter. Konrad shuddered, thinking about sweet Aydilge becoming _that_, then his hand went to his chin, thoughtfully. But Jaghatai went on.

"Esin is dead. Amphithoe is dead. She resents Serenity, and I don't know if Father can get through to her after the bang up job he did with Lorgar." Resentment welled in his voice no matter how much he tried to conceal it, and Jaghatai winced. They had no right to blame the Emperor for Lorgar's betrayal, but emotions were not rational things. "Tell me something, Konrad. I am at the end of my rope here. I don't know where I can turn. My family is lost, brother, and the only scraps that remained in my hands are destroying themselves over it. Tell me what I can do, for I don't know anymore."

{oOo}


	133. What Has Been Lost

{oOo}

"Clumsy. Cumbersome. Bloody. Worthless. Chunk. Of. Junk!" The words were punctuated by a pointed clanking. The Emperor rose from his design table, rolled his shoulders, and turned around to investigate.

Tekhne was standing next to one of the large cogitators, frustration on her face, rubbing the foot that was kicking the poor machine. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she almost jumped out of her skin, whirling around, her mechadendrites whipping. Her angry expression smoothed when she noticed her father-in-law standing behind her with a resigned expression.

"Let me guess. Logic engine decided to reinvent the laws of the universe, right?"

Tekhne huffed. "They are so, so simple-minded. Why should I run six of these huge things simultaneously just to whip together the mag bottle algorithms of a plasma reactor?"

The Emperor chuckled bitterly. The foreign sound vanished Tekhne's frustration instantly, and she looked up. "My Lord?"

The Master of Mankind shook his head. "Just thinking about what we lost. I lived through those days, you know. The time Humanity had everything." He leaned against a table, eyes clouded. "We truly had everything. Anything we desired, we built with our two hands. Our technology was akin to magic. STCs were but a small part, they were just machines we sent out with colony expeditions to give them a head start. What we had, what we built was far beyond." His face twisted in frustration. "I knew it would end. But I never dreamed the destruction would be so total. So much we lost. Once, the algorithm that gives you so much trouble would not constitute even a blink of an eye for even the most basic machines people use at their homes. What we call God Machines today walked the worlds in droves, as numerous as the tanks of the Guard, and those that towered above even them herded them like cattle."

Tekhne felt the guilt in the Emperor's voice clearly. It was unsettling, seeing their normally unflappable patriarch so unsettled. "I knew." He went on. "I knew it was my duty to preserve, to save, but there was so much. I had too much to do. By the time the shit hit the fan, the destruction was too total, too widespread. Now all we have is scraps."

The Master of Mankind shook his head again, but this time, a small smile broke out on his lips. "Well, it doesn't matter now. It is gone, no point in crying over spilled milk. We shall rebuild. You and I, Tekhne. We will rebuild. It will take time, but we will."

He then chuckled once more, this time a more natural sounding one. He reached over her shoulder and punched a few buttons. The machine beeped, blinked, and data codes started flowing down the small screen. "But to do that, we should do our homework. Back to work now."

Tekhne whirled back, hands flowing over the buttons to record and sort through the data. "B-but, how? Hey? Father! Oof!"

As her frustrated cries rose behind him, the Emperor walked back to his table, with an amused smirk on his face.

{oOo}


	134. Home At Last

{oOo}

Azmina stared intensely into the glass she held in on hand, as if the amber liquid contained within held all the answers to her maudlin ponderings.

"May I ask?"

She blinked and roused herself to look at the winged Primarch, "The family." She cradled the tumbler in her hands.

"Ah." Sanguinius nodded, tilting his own glass absently, regarding her with knowing eyes, recalling the missive sent from the Palace not too long ago. "Fulgrim?"

The blonde downed the drink in one swallow, setting the glass on the low table with a faint clink before rising and walked towards the large window and looked out onto Sanguinius' sprawling estates.

"Half our lives, so far," her fingers gripped her biceps, arms crossed protectively over her torso, "_Half_, Sanguinius, he has lost that much time to that… _thing._"

"Indeed he has," he said gravely, "But with how long we are likely to live?" He waved the glass in a broad arc, "He can more than make up that lost time, with our help."

"It's something he'll always carry," a note of old pain rang in her voice, her thoughts involuntarily dragged back to another time, another tragedy.

Sanguinius regarded her back solemnly, noting the nigh-unnoticable tension that thrummed, "Yes, he will, but I trust that he will rise above it and become a new man."

A chuckle, "Like a phoenix from the ashes?"

He hid a smirk behind his glass and said before taking sip, "Indeed, Azmina, indeed."

"It will take a long time," she mused quietly, "But with all of us at his back?"

A rueful smile tugged Sanguinius' mouth as he thought of some of his brothers, "To varying degrees of success, I imagine."

This earned a snort from his companion.

{oOo}

The sound of foot-steps stopped outside the door and heavy knocks echoed through the room.

"Enter."

A crimson robed marine passed through the door and saluted both of them, "Lord Ferrus' Stormbird has arrived at the landing pad, my lord." He reported.

Azmina levered herself away from the wall next to the large window she had been gazing out of, and strode forward. "At last," she said, "He and Konrad took their time bringing Fulgrim home."

Sanguinius made a faint noise as he followed her, the marine bringing up the rear, "Most likely for the best, Azmina, Fulgrim cannot be in good form." His tone was faintly melancholy.

The golden haired woman growled in disgust, but did not disagree as she walked swiftly along winding corridors, "Damn Slaaneshi."

{oOo}

Ignoring the faint tattoos lining his face, both of them stepped forward to greet him.

"Fulgrim, welcome home." Sanguinius said as he enfolded his brother in an embrace and frowned at feeling Fulgrim shake lightly in his arms.

The winged Primarch stepped back keeping his hands on his brothers shoulder, and smiled encouragingly, "Welcome to my house, brother, I hope you find it to your tastes"

Fulgrim nodded and said in a quiet voice, "I… I hope so too, brother."

{oOo}


	135. Failure

{oOo}

Grimly Serenity focused ever-more deeply on healing her father, the building pain and and malignant tendrils of Chaos staunchly ignored with a resolve she was sure would make Rogal proud.

'Rogal, Father, so many precious ones hurt,' a buried and treacherous part of her whispered, disjointed images of the the fall of the Silver Millennium and now this all-too clearly emblazoned across the inside of her eyelids, 'Lorgar, what have you _done_? What have _we_ done?'

Her throat felt raw, burning, 'Grief will come later,' she told herself sternly as she increased the energy flow and her fingers spasmed involuntarily, the pain mounting in concert, 'No distractions can be afforded, not now.'

"Serenity?" a husky voice full of concern echoed from somewhere far away.

She shut it out and repeated to herself, 'No distractions.'

The metallic-sweet taste of copper washed across her tongue and filled her nose, and a muted sense of alarm thrummed from the Emperors body as it lay beneath her hands.

_~Serenity.~_

Warmth crossed her lips, and exclamations of surprise erupted from those surrounding her before they tried to move her, but she tensed and remained where she was.

_**~Serenity.~**_

She shook her head.

A flick of golden power pushed her mind and body back gently, before sinking into her to sooth the worst of the damage wrought, ~_Stop, my daughter, you have proved amply that I must heal normally. The risks to you, and to our Imperium are too great.~_

_~I have failed again~_ her mind-voice was a whisper.

_~Then learn and become strong and wise so you cannot,' _a fading sense of paternal affection suffused her, _~Though it is more apt to say that I have failed in this more than you, little Serena.~_

As the sense of her fathers mind lapsed into relative dormancy, she let the concerned hands and voice help her to her feet, another energy replacing that of the Emperors to sooth the hurts to her body and looked into Alta's grave face.

"Serenity," she sighed before embracing her close after dismissing the others in the room, "We cannot lose you in any way, not now, you must know that."

Her forehead rested on the dark-skinned woman's shoulder and whispered, "I know, but… I…"

"I understand," a soft hand stroked her hair.

{oOo}


	136. A Parting of Ways

{oOo}

Azmina and Rogal looked at each other somewhat awkwardly.

"I don't like it," she said immediately after the official left the room, the set of her mouth mulish and dared him to disagree, "How am I supposed to keep an eye on you , if I'm off galavanting in other parts of of the galaxy?"

While he sighed internally, out loud Rogal reminded her patiently, "It will help secure the expansion of the Imperium, and allow us to save more human planets from Eldar slavers, Orks and other xenos," then he added, "It will be very odd though."

Azmina nodded quietly and reached for his hand, "Yes."

He gave her hand a comforting squeeze and the faintest ghost of a smile appeared on his face, which she only noticed due to long experience at reading his expressions, "At least we have many memories to keep us company?" he suggested.

She made a face at him, "You know that isn't the same," her tone was reproachful, before she sighed, "But I suppose, if your father says it is necessary, then who am I to argue?"

Rogal squeezed her hand again.

'I won't miss the overprotective nagging,' he thought, feeling slightly guilty.

Azmina perked up and said suddenly, "Astropaths!"

He looked at her, a mildly quizzical look in his eyes, "What about them?"

The blonde smiled triumphantly, "I'll just send you plenty of messages by astropath!" A stern look, "And I expect you to do the same, okay?"

"…Yes, Azmina."

{oOo}


	137. In Memory

{oOo}

**Captain**

He looks away and bites absent-mindly on his fingers and for a moment, he seems like a boy fresh out of schola. His thin and his uniform covers his arms, so only the sinewy large hands betray the impression of youthful frailty.

"Did I know him?" he asks. "No more than any other Corporal in my unit."

His fingers, covered in scabs, betray that the biting is a long-time habit.

"He was a good soldier. Like all my men."

**Sergeant**

"You know, I actually never thought about it," he says, scratching his bald had. "I mean, we all know we can die any moment, but I never really wondered, if anybody of us could actually do what he did."

He shakes his head, shadows and light playing on his face. His voice is awed and disbelieving, when he continues. "Crazy bastard. Crazy brave bastard."

As I get up to leave, he adds one more thing:

"The Princess herself wrote to his wife."

**Love**

"We met through my brother," she says. Her brown eyes still look pretty, though they're red-rimmed. She's holding a damp handkerchief, twisting it absent-mindly as she speaks. "He thought it would be amusing to set me up on a blind date."

She pauses and smiles, a sad broken smile. "It wasn't any big love story. We just… we just felt good together."

{oOo}

AN: And here is our tribute to Ollianus Pius.


	138. The Lady of the Seas

{oOo}

Amphithoe raised the trident examining it carefully. It was quite a beautiful weapon with pale aqua etchings dancing around the silvery hilt. Nevertheless, she found it odd to hold a weapon. She was not a warrior, was she?

"I suppose I should feel special now," she laughed. "I'm the first Senshi who received a gift from your girlfriend, Fulgrim."

Fulgrim rolled his eyes at his friend, but his lips were twitching as if he was trying not to smile. "You are jealous you don't have such a big manly best friend."

Amphithoe arched an eyebrow at him. "Really, Fulgrim, I didn't know you thought yourself feminine."

The Phoenician laughed. "I walked into that one, didn't I?"

Amphithoe smiled as she switched her hold on the trident from her left, to her right hand. "I wonder what kind of person Senshi Uranus is?"

Fulgrim shrugged, and said, "I heard she dual wields chainswords."

{oOo}

Amphithoe found Esin quite fascinating. They were opposities: she was a child of a domed hive, still not used to seeing the sky over her head. Esin had been born a nomad, child of an endless steppe, free to wander in any direction she wished.

They faced each other in the training cage, Amphithoe with her new unfamiliar weapon, Esin holding two swords. They circled each other and then Esin attacked, lethally quick and skilled. Amphithoe only barely managed to block, Esin's word meeting her staff with a clang.

She tried a counter-strike, aiming for the other woman's legs, attempting to use her longer reach to her advantage, but Esin was simply too quick.

They danced around each other, a hawk circling a viper. It came as a surprise to her, but Amphithoe found herself enjoying the fight—perhaps she was a warrior after all.

{oOo}

AN: Something of a companion piece to the _Sea and Wind_ pieces~


	139. The Founding

{oOo}

"Why Garro?" Mortarion asked frowning. "I intend to make him my first captain."

Malcador nodded, as he leaned heavily on his staff. While he was not nearly as badly affected as the Emperor or Rogal Dorn, nevertheless the First Lord of Terra had been sorely tested by the battle for the Palace. His shoulders sagged and his steps had grown slower, less energetic than Mortarion recalled.

"I ask much, I know," he said his voice soft. "I already used your and Horus's kidness and borrowed both him and Captain Qruze and now I intend to steal them."

He smiled palely and so did Mortarion. It lit up Malcador's drawn features, though it did nothing to mask the lines or the bags under his eyes.

"Honesty might get you what you want," he conceded. "So, how about we trade?"

Malcador shook his head. "The Lord of Death is bargaining. What do you wish in return?"

Mortarion's pale eyebrows rose—clearly, Malcador had been expecting this. Indeed, he seemed to have expected this. Nevertheless, even Malcador was prepared, Mortarion still intended to propose his trade.

"This… new project of yours," he said. "Let us all gather and discuss it. We cannot afford a situation where one hand does not know what the other is doing."

That did surprise the old man. He blinked and for a moment, Mortarion wondered if Garro was too weak a bargaining chip. Then, Malcador nodded.

"You've grown," he said smiling again.

{oOo}


	140. Kindling

{oOo}

_She stirred, drifting in warmth both physical and mental, her mind still unborn, yet rapidly approaching sapience, reaching for it with an instinctive inquisitive glee._

Ira pressed a hand to the treated armaplas of the tube, the growing life within drifting closer at that touch and smiled, 'Hello, my daughter.'

A larger hand superimposed itself over her own, easily dwarfing it, though Ira felt no fear, knowing that the owner of the hand would not be anything but gentle with her.

"I'm just in time it seems," he noted, pleasure—and pride—clear in his voice.

"She grasps for thought so eagerly," murmured his wife, "Already so much like you," her tone was desert dry with resignation, though not without the warmth of great affection and amusement.

Magnus made a mock-affronted noise, "You say that like curiosity and inquisitiveness are a bad thing."

"When not tempered with logic and common sense." she answered with an air of someone treading old ground with fond exasperation.

"Point," then an eager smile entered Magnus' voice, "I can't wait until we can teach her everything."

Ira rested her cheek on his out-stretched arm and smiled quietly herself, "Nor can I. Though I expect she will bombard us with more questions than is normal for any child." her voice and presence in Magnus' mind where teasing.

Magnus smirked unseen, though Ira felt it clearly, "Of course, she _is_ my daughter."

{oOo}

AN: And a skip back in Amunet's timeline.


	141. Temptation

(oOo)

The clack of heeled boots echoed through the chamber where he had been held —For how long? A week? A month? A year? The lack of windows, the chronometer in his armour —one of the very first things that had been taken, and denied to him in their efforts to grind away at his will— and the seemingly random and nonsensical visits of his tormenters rendered time hard to estimate.

"Ah, my little man," sighed that familiar achingly husky voice, a sweetly honeyed scent enveloping him as the thing that was his erstwhile jailer came to a stop close by, the soft sheen of leather encased legs visible through the ragged fall of his hair.

He closed his eyes, his voice was a weary rasp, "Leave me, daemon, you know I have nothing of worth to offer you."

A rich syrupy chuckle and a rustle of silk and the faint creak of supple leather sounded as the female-shaped thing knelt by him, brushing away his lank hair and lifting his face lightly, one arm terminating below the elbow in a lurid crablike claw, the other in a exquisitely feminine long-fingered hand, had a human woman had talons like obsidian knives. Cold, deadly and beautiful.

Said talons delicately traced the strong gene-forged contours of his worn face leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake, "You may think, my little man, that you have nothing to offer me," her overripe mouth curled into a knowing smile, "But I? Ah, my little man, what can _I_ offer you?"

He kept his eyes resolutely on her straight, pert nose, well aware by now of the lulling, hypnotic power of her eyes, and reflexively breathing shallowly through his mouth to counteract the more unavoidable pheromones that her body filled the air with. Though he wondered, as always, how much it happened to work, his limbs were already slowly becoming warm leaden weights.

Yet. The sensation… He hissed out a breath has her leather clad thigh shifted against his, a visceral fire igniting in his nerve endings, muscles twitching.

"Surcease," she purred, lips shaping word with loving care and rendering it something wicked, obscene. "Sweet little man, simply give yourself to me and I can make it stop hurting. Your body, your mind." Her eyes where huge and deep as she continued, her breath fanning against his ear and neck, "No pain, no responsibilities, no regrets, no guilt. Only peace and my flesh, my desire."

His pupils dilated and he said unsteadily, "And become food, or worse, for your masters? No." He closed is eyes again, resolute, his lips soundlessly forming idiom from the Imperial Creed.

Unseen to her prisoner, something old and ugly filled her eyes, which twisted that striking face, and he hissed again as her talons sunk slightly into his cheek, her thumb pushing into his mouth to stifle his half spoken words, "Do not make me do something I may regret, little _man_."

As blood from his lacerated tongue filled his mouth, he only smiled quietly, and waited.

(oOo)

AN: Inspired by a scene in _Turn Coat_ by Jim Butcher. As to who, or what the man is? It shall remain a mystery~


	142. Thoughts

{oOo}

The blond boy rested his back against the broad bulk of one of the many trees lining well-trod mountain trail that his feet had started tracing out of habit, giddy relief at managing to escape the senate—the stuffy, pedantic lot of them—permeating his spirit as he trekked further up the path, however that relief was tempered by a measure of guilt of the disappointment he was sure that Konor would display, along with the lecture that both of them knew that he payed only half an ear too.

The rich scent of loam and the faint musk of forest animals filled his nostrils as he slipped off the trail and headed deeper into the trees, confident in his capability to deal with even the largest and most fiersome, the strength of his body gifted by his yet unknown kin owing to that.

A faint pang rippled through him and like all the times his mind had turned to this subject, as great as his affection towards Konor was, he had always known on some level that he wasn't born of Konor's blood, that affection had not lessened a jot even with his adopted father confessing such.

Yet… Roboute wondered. What where his parents like? Did he have brothers? Sisters? If so, how many? What where they like? How different from him would they be? Where they looking for him? Would he like them? Would they like him?

All those questions and more clamoured for his attention like affectionate kittens, but with practice he managed to push them away to sink into the simple calmness of the forest around him, the sound of water growing louder as the trees around him began thin slightly, more and more sunlight breaking through the leaves bathing everything in warm green-gold light.

Pushing lightly—ever mindful of his own strength—off the trunk of a nearby tree, the bark rough and wrinkled beneath his fingers, he boosted himself out into a clearing and towards a broad sun-warmed bolder edging on a shallow pool, where he flopped down and stretched out his legs. Pulling some twine and small leather-clad box out of the pocket of his trousers.

Tying one of the small steel hooks he had carefully plucked from the box with the twine and looping some of the excess around his hand, he flicked the hook and line out into the pool with nary a ripple and settled back to wait.

{oOo}

And here is a young Roboute, with inspiration drawn from his short story in _Age of Darkness_.


	143. Mommy, He Stole My Lollipop

{oOo}

Roboute Guilliman sometimes had to wonder why in the world anybody would want to have siblings. Not often, but there were moments when his brothers acted like little children. Take Mortarion, who was usually composed and stoic, but was now giving him the kind of look that usually accompanied the words "Mommy, he stole my lollypop!"

And that probably came from spending too much time in Azmina's company. As well as the fact that he was no wondering what kind of lollypops Mortarion might like and in turn that lead him towards wondering if there was any chocolate with chili around.

"Brother, I have provided you with the explanation for this particular query at least sixteen times," Roboute said.

"But the Death Guard is only three hundred over strength and our tactics work better if there's a lot of us," Mortarion replied.

"Actually, you are one thousand three hundred over strength," Roboute countered. "And please do not mention the Black Templars."

Mortarion gave him a sullen look.

"I know your arguments by heart and I'm sure you know mine as well," Roboute continued.

"They're mine," The Death Lord grumbled crossing his arms over his chest.

"And so they shall be, only they shall be stationed on a different planet," Roboute said.

"Under a different name and when I'll come to visit, they always have some new customs," Mortarion complained.

"Yes, I am aware of that," Guilliman said. "And you know perfectly well that this is quite natural. Not to mention, my Ultramarines are faced with this situation much more frequently than your Legion."

"Fulgrim didn't have to found any Chapters," Mortarion countered.

Roboute groaned and buried his face in hands. After a moment, he felt a bony hand pat his shoulder.

"Hm," Mortarion mused. "How about you ask Azmina to talk to Rogal this time? You look like you need a vacation."

{oOo}


	144. Asclepius

{oOo}

Anastas smiled at Tekhne, "I would be honoured, Mother."

{oOo}

"Anastas?"

A faint chime sounded, "Everything is green," he gave her his best smile, "But I assumed you would like to do the honours."

This earned an exasperated look, "Of course." Tekhne's voice was dry as she pressed the final switch.

The glassteel tube emitted a low hum and the growth-fluid inside slowly drained, lightly settling the pink and wriggling infant against the cushioned bottom. Tekhne knelt lightly at the foot of the pod and bundled him delicately into a soft towel, cradling him to her chest.

The babe coughed again as Tekhne patted his back, expelling the remaining fluid in his body.

{oOo}

Now he was dry and clean of the engineered amniotic fluid, Tekhne sighed in contentment as she rested her cheek lightly against the babes dark downy hair, fingers absently even fussily neatening and tucking the soft blanket closer. Her mechadendrites swaying teasingly over the child's head, his mesmerised eyes following the patterns they traced in the air.

Broad fingers touched lightly to the boys hair, knuckles brushing across her cheek.

She smiled gently, "Hello, love."

"Kairos Pylaemenes," rumbled Perturabo, "…My son." His severe face softened marginally.

Clear blue eyes blinked owlishly up at them.

"He has everything he should?" The Iron Warrior's Primarch took the boy into his large hands and peered at him searchingly.

Tekhne's face was radiant behind the blue visor—which materialized at Perturabo's question, knowing that he would appreciate the thought, even though she had checked thoroughly before his arrival.

"Yes," she murmured, various icons on the visor blinking green, "He does and no complications are to be seen."

Her husband settled one arm over her slim shoulders and let her clasp their newest child in her arms.

{oOo}

AN: By Nico Hana. Babies babies everywhere, as one author has said. Set roughly mid 32M. (Also in the midst of the initial run of _Project Minoris._)


	145. Another Vision

{oOo}

She was scared, her head hurt, and it was dark. Too dark to even allow for the power outage from the building that had collapsed over the basement her mother had hurriedly shoved her in along with the other children.

She tried to rub her eyes and cried out when it made them hurt more.

She wondered if it was because of that bright flash before her mother closed the blast doors.

Where was Mommy?

{oOo}

"There now," said a quiet soothing voice she somehow heard over the sound of vehicles, pounding footfalls and shouting men. Large, uncomfortably hard hands lifted her gently from the hole dug through the rubble into the shelter of the basement and carried her into the din.

"Owie, owie," the little girl whimpered, still shaking from nerves.

That quiet, kind voice answered, "I know it hurts, and I am taking you somewhere we can make you better."

"…You won't leave?" She tried to grip something, but all her fumbling hands found was a hard, smooth surface.

A comforting squeeze as the man continued to walk, "Of course not."

{oOo}

The dark haired youth frowned, bright blue eyes serious, but clear, as he scanned the results, "Retinal bleaching?"

"It happens after the victim is exposed to a sufficiently bright flash, in lay terms," Apothecary Agatheon replied as he continued with the examination. "...I'm explaining things you know again, am I?"

He really needed to get used he was not surrounded by people with zero knowledge of medicine. The last mission had taken so long and he just couldn't shake the old habit off.

"She'll stay blind, that I can tell you," he added, after a moment. "At least until we get a surgeon used to operating girls."

Carefully, he patted the little girl's head. "This will sting a bit, but you're a strong girl, right?"

"Uhm hmm," she nodded, though one hand groped for the one who rescued her.

Kairos let her take a hold of a couple of his fingers, and chuckled at Agatheon, "Yes, you are, but you know I don't mind."

The girl tugged at Kairos' hand so leant forward curiously and she whispered in his ear.

Nodding, he straightened, "She wants to know what we are doing in the mean time," he reported.

"You've got some cuts, little one," Agatheon replied. "I need to clean them up and give you an injection, so that you won't get sick. Then I'll have to give you another one to make up for the water you lost."

The first stings would come as he the Apothecary cleaned the scrapes and cuts on the girls knees and hands. He couldn't do much about it—It always stung, though most of his patients were older and tended to have much bigger wounds to clean up. Still, the idea was the same down to smearing them with the antiseptic paste.

Next came the first injection, shortly followed by the second. "There, all done."

Blue eyes glinted as Kairos smiled, "There, that wasn't so bad was it?" He patted the now exhausted little girl lightly on her nodding head, "And it looks like somebody needs some sleep."

She yawned widely interrupting her headshake, but settled as he tucked the thin blanket around her and was quickly sleeping.

{oOo}

A while later as Kairos was checking up on the young girl on his rounds through the infirmary, a broad shadow loomed at the tents edge and opened the flap, "Here you are," rumbled a low voice.

Agatheon did the usual Space Marine thing in the presence of his Primarch, which was stand straight and try not to look too awed to function. Kairos was one thing, but the Primarch himself...

Perturabo nodded curtly at the Apothecary. "That's the only survivor?" he asked, peering at the girl.

This earned a mildly exasperated look from Kairos, who shook his head but went ahead with his report, "No, there where several others among the settlement's children, also found in the same shelter, however they have all been transported to a safer location now."

"And what about this one?" Perturabo asked, arching his eyebrows. From what he could tell the girl didn't look to be in a bad condition. Scraped and bruised maybe, but...

"She's been blinded, my Lord," Agatheon replied.

Kairos nodded, and looked faintly sheepish, "I also promised her that I would stay with her for now, so since I can't leave just yet..." He trailed off.

Perturabo sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Do you remember what I told you when you asked me if you could keep that half-drowned cat when you were nine?"

The boy was more like Tekhne than himself—not that he minded. Perturabo would admit—quietly—that he was probably not the winner of the personality contest among his brothers. Still, sometimes...

Kairos shifted his feet and rubbed the back of his head, palm brushing against the short buzz of hair there, "...I let myself care too much?" he frowned, "You know I can't help that, Father, I did choose to take medical training, because I like looking after people who need help, even if the work can be hard." He looked slightly stubborn at this.

"Will you be able to find her parents?" Perturabo asked, giving in. He wasn't going to change what Kairos was. To tell the truth, he wouldn't want to. The boy did care too much at times, but he was his boy, nonetheless.

"If the gene-archives of the city didn't get destroyed, we might be able to locate them," Agatheon said. "My Lord."

{oOo}

After some of hours of shifting through the innumerable piles of rubble that had been a prosperous, though relatively small city left behind by the Ork raiding party, Kairos found that the greenskins had, unsurprisingly, rendered the archives unrecoverable. Like with the vast majority of the city, the land would have to be cleared and rebuilt from the bottom up.

Kairos' face was grim as he walked through shattered foundations with his father, that expression alone making it obvious he was Perturabo's son, despite the slightly pained blue eyes, "The Orks are thorough in their destruction, at least," he noted grudgingly.

"We will do the usual then," Perturabo replied. "Make a list of children without parents, broadcast it in refugee camps and hope somebody turns up. If not, the children will be adopted by suitable families."

It was a sad fact of life—wars took parents from their children and children from their parents. One could do his best to minimize the losses, but there would always be victims.

"How is the girl doing?" he asked. She seemed like a nice child when he last saw her. Too bad about the eyes, though perhaps with suitable augmentics she wouldn't have to be disfigured...

His son nodded, his eyes becoming resolved, and paused, "She is quiet," he admitted, "And is wary with anybody who isn't Agatheon or I."

The young man drummed the fingers of his left hand against the gauntlet of his right arm, "…I do not think her mother lives," he said gravely, eyes scanning the various soldiers and laborers clearing the ground, "She said to me that her mother was the one to put her in that shelter and close it without getting in herself, just as the 'big painful light' happened," Kairos slipped from his usual mannerisms for those three words.

"It sounds likely she was caught in the blast then," Perturabo mused. "Her father?"

Without the gene archive the work would be much more tedious. Nevertheless, they would have to try-they had to bring some semblance of order to the world before leaving.

Kairos frowned thoughtfully, "If my conclusion is correct from her—understandably—garbled account, her father is member of the Arbites on this world, or possibly a soldier in the PDF." His fingers drummed again, an old habit he did while thinking deeply.

"He's likely dead than too," Perturabo mused.

There was some hope, true, but not much. Most likely the girl was an orphan now, though she might have extended family left.

Or maybe he was being too pessimistic? Normal humans seemed so very fragile most of the time...

"Quite likely," agreed Kairos with a grave nod, "There is a small chance that some more distant relative lives if her father doesn't, but…" His shoulders twitched in a small shrug, arms crossing over his white armoured chest, the scarlet prime helix standing out in sharp relief.

"Get to work then," Perturabo said, giving Kai's back a light push. The boy found her, so he was responsible for the child now, after all.

He saluted smartly, "Yes, sir!"

{oOo}

Turning on his heel Perturabo watched him go. His son was so much more like his mother than him. Was he making a mistake here? Was he unconciously trying to protect him from danger?

He shook his head. Bringing up children seemed so much easier when he had been childless.

{oOo}

Kairos ducked back into the open part of the infirmary tent, nodded politely to Apothecary Agatheon while plucking his helm of a cluttered side-table, transferring the image to a nearby free dataslate. He paused briefly before leaving again to look over his shoulder, "The girl—how is she?"

"Stable," Agatheon replied. "She's been asking for you. And her mother. I told her we're looking for her."

He was better with boys. Teenage boys to be precise. Little girls were alien creatures that... well, he had no clue how to treat the child.

Kai winced slightly, "Tell her I will return when I have news."

'Hopefully, a couple of hours from now,' he thought to himself, knowing from experience to not let the small kernels of hope take root, but still...

"You're already here," Agatheon pointed out. Perhaps, if he weren't a Space Marine, one might have suspected he was simply afraid of delivering the bad news to a little girl, but the Adeptus Astartes knew no fear.

"I don't have any news yet," he pointed out to Agatheon, "Other than the gene-archives being unrecoverable, but it is quite likely you have heard that already."

Kai made to turn, so he could get on with his search. The idea firmly in mind that the quicker he got to it, the quicker he could return. But that was interrupted by a thump, and surprised cry from behind the closed partition at the rear of the tent.

"Owie!"

Agatheon sighed and motioned at Kai to follow as he went to check on the girl. She probably tripped or ran into something.

"Are you all right?" he asked, peering inside.

"Oww," she hugged her ribs, "Stupid, stupid table-thing...!"

Perturabo's son swiftly crossed the short distance and crouched by the child, armoured fingers light as he steadied her, "Are you okay?"

The girl perked up at his quiet voice and broke into a radiant smile under the bandages across her eyes. Although, it wasn't entirely pointed in his direction, "Mister!"

"It is me," he said, amused, tugging her to face him fully.

She hesitated, "Have you found Mommy? Or Poppi?"

Kairos gave her his best professional smile—though he knew she couldn't see it—and his most soothing voice, "Not yet, but I am still looking." He squeezed her shoulders gently.

Her face fell, "Oh..."

He patted her head lightly, "I'm going to go look for them now. Will you be careful while I'm gone?"

She nodded, still looking rather glum.

Kai started to rise to his feet.

"Wait, mister!" she leapt forward and tried to wrap her arms around his broad torso, naturally not succeeding, "Thank you, mister."

He smiled more genuinely this time as she stepped backward, "It's no problem."

"Now," he continued, "Be careful while I'm gone?"

"Uh uh!" she nodded vigorously.

Kairos laughed quietly as he left the tent, raising a hand in farewell to Agatheon as went.

"Bye bye, mister!"

Stepping out onto one of the cleared roads, he thought of her face, if he returned to tell her that she had no family left. It hurt, but it also strengthened his resolve and lent more power to his feet as he set out.

{oOo}

Kairos leant over the bandaged man with a polite smile and held out the dataslate, "You wouldn't happen to know this girl, ser?"

{oOo}

The search didn't prove entirely fruitless. One of the PDF grunts recalled seeing a photo of a girl similar to that one and mentioned the name of the father. He wasn't sure what happened to him, though—the last time he had seen him was when they were under heavy fire.

An elderly couple both recalled the girl and her parents, and told Kai that her parents didn't have any close family as far as they knew. They got into a fairly lengthy discussion over when the grandmother had died.

Finally, there was a youth who could confirm the mother was dead. He had lived in the same complex and had actually found the body—or what was left of it, anyhow.

{oOo}

Taking a shortcut though some buildings in the process of being cleared, Kairos thought of what he had discovered, and grimaced. Any way that he could put it, it would only hurt the girl, something much of him was opposed to. However concealing the truth from her would only hurt more in the long run, and engender resentment in her. A catch-22 if ever there was one.

He scrubbed at his face with one hand, and noted absently he needed to shave.

Turning onto the road that led back to the Astartes camp, Kairos' armour-shod feet ate up the distance as he headed to the now mostly-empty infirmary.

"Mister!"

Jarred from his thoughts his eyes cleared and he saw the girl standing in the open between Perturabo and a somewhat unsettled Agatheon.

Kairos shot a look at his father.

Perturabo looked back at his son stoically. Naturally, he was not here because he liked children. He did not.

Well, not very much. And Kairos didn't know this anyway. Unless Tekhne told him he was the one who came up with the idea they should adopt children.

"Kairos," he said as greeting.

Agatheon nodded at him and shot a nervous look at his Primarch.

"Father, Agatheon," he said in response on approaching the trio, and snagged the girl before she could hurt herself as she sprang at him.

"I thought I had told you to be careful," he chided with a sigh, a subdued smile touching his mouth.

"I was!" her lower lip thrust out in a pout, then eagerly, "Have you found Mommy an' Poppi?"

His smile faded, but with a gentle touch started to steer her back into the tent, "I do have news."

"Really!"

Kairos' heart clenched painfully in his chest.

Agatheon started sneaking out. He really didn't think he'd be useful here—he had no idea how to deal with little girls, anyway. He'd just get in the way...

Perturabo nodded at his son gravely. The child needed to learn what happened, even if it would be unpleasant.

After getting her seated on her bunk and finding a chair, Kairos sat down opposite to her, clasping her tiny hands in his and steeled himself, "I... I'm afraid your mother is gone, and we cannot find your father."

She stared at him for several long moments shaking her head in mute denial. Tears soaked through the bandages first, before her little face crumpled and her body started shaking with sobs.

Kairos pulled her into his lap and tried to soothe the girl, "They loved you very very much, and where very brave, like you are. My mother would do the same for me, too."

The girl just continued to cling to him and cry. It was painful, and it was unpleasant, but he didn't look away, or stop trying to comfort her. He couldn't, and wouldn't do anything less.

Then a large hand rested on the girl's head. This had to happen, but the knowledge was still a bitter one.

"It's alright," Perturabo said. "You won't be alone."

{oOo}

_Epilogue_

Her hands twitched abruptly up to cover her face, unused to the light. It rendered painfully bright by the clean laboratory around them.

Slim hands brushed her hair of her face and calm female voice chided gently, "Impatient, I did say you would need time."

Agnieszka lowered hands and opened her eyes, though more slowly this time, eyelids fluttering as the womans kind face and clear blue eyes swam into view, the lights now lower, more subdued.

"I can see." Wonder filled her voice.

The blue haired woman smiled warmly, "Or course. Do you wish to see your new eyes?"

"Yes... Mother."

Tekhne hugged her close at the hesitancy in the young girls voice, and led her to a mirror.

Agnieszka looked into the mirror, and into her new eyes. Her new, pale, all-blue eyes, and up into the eyes of Tekhne's reflection now standing there, hands on her shoulder in a silent gesture of support, that kind smile unwavering.

"I love them."

Her smile was small, and expression still faintly sad, but she turned abruptly wrapping her arms around Tekhne's waist, face buried in her stomach.

"Thank you," Agnieszka whispered.

{oOo}

AN: A collab between Bloody Mary and Nico Hana.


	146. Invasion

{oOo}

Jarilo Morana was barely sixteen when his little sister disappeared on her way back home. Naturally, the police forces searched for her—to no avail. The girl was simply gone. It was worse than it sounded, since his sister had been the one.

The Senshi of Zorya had disappeared before she even manifested her powers. It had been a blow. For a youth of sixteen, sitting around and doing nothing while his friends turned on him, because his family didn't take care of the manifestation of their planet well enough, was impossible.

And so Jarilo started his own search. Hand on the wall of the school building he followed the shadow of his sister step by step, until he finally saw what happened.

They came out of the shadows, just like that. Slender, dressed in little and less—mostly blades and spikes. Xenos. His little Zaria tried to run, but they caught her and dragged her away, kicking and screaming.

Jarilo had a trail. Without really thinking, he grabbed the nearest heavy object—a flowerpot with a rosebush.

About half an hour later, he heard laughter and the odd alien tongue, the echoes of which he'd been hearing from the shades. Quickly, he pressed himself to a wall, the flowerpot gripped firmly.

The aliens were flying on some sort of hovering boards, armed with odd staff-blades. There was four of them, all distracted and chattering.

The flowerpot flew in a nice, elegant arc, hitting the leftmost one square in the head. He veered of course, crashing into another, and then into the other two. Then they met an inconvenient wall.

Even if they had lived through loosing all those limbs—sharp edges when falling into another person were not your friend—they had no chance to survive the meeting with ground. Jarilo looked at the scattered remains and calmly picked up one of the staff-blades.

{oOo}


	147. Invasion II

{oOo}

Ruith patted the Archon's cheek, ignoring the blood seeping through the many wounds. Like so many, his old "friend" concentrated so much on keeping his foes away, he forgot that his allies were the one's at knife's length from him.

"I told you this plan is stupid," he sighed. "You could have listened. We could have raided the planet and gone back by now. But no. You had to steal the girl and _hide_."

He shook his head. "I know the Senshi. I know the Mon-keigh. They would hunt us and the Craftworlders would aid them, just to keep the Imperium from turning on them."

He smiled as he rose. "So, you see, I had to kill you. Now everything will go as usual and I won't die a bloody stupid death, just for your glory."

He waved at the cooling corpse and neatly stepped over it.

"Tah! I'll let the youngsters have fun!"

Hae'gury'ar was the first to find the mortal remains of the Archon. Not being the sharpest blade in the armory, he reacted by running around and yelling the news at the top of his voice. While most raids required firm discipline, the Archon was necessary to maintain him. Now with him gone everything started falling apart.

The wych Cy Cael jumped at the throat of the Succubus, proving once and for all that her ambition and vanity were several magnitudes greater then her intelligence. Nevertheless, before dying she managed to wound her opponent.

The younger members of the party, meanwhile, decided that they had no reason to restrain themselves and promptly left to pillage, maim and kill.

As the Succubus fought to regain control over the others, no one noticed that they lost contact with one group of Hellions…

{oOo}


	148. Invasion III

{oOo}

The small group of xenos Jarilo had bested were merely a herald of an incursion, it turned out. More and more laughing Dark Eldar on gliders poured into the city—killing or snatching future slaves from the streets. People fled in panic, trampling one another as they tried to reach some sort of safety.

The first semblance of resistance that the Hellions met was a woman of fifty. She was one of the many dwellers of Hab Block 50 on Red Street. Her apartment was on the fiftieth floor and his living room had a window with the view on opposing building—and the passing pack of would be predators.

The first one didn't even see his death coming. There was only flash of light and the distinctive hiss of a las weapon and then a body was thumping down and down, a neat little hole just over his right eye. The others hovered, yelling and turning their heads trying to spot where the shot had come from.

The second one did saw a glow, before his body slumped and his glider veered off course, crashing into the opposite block. By then the remaining three had saw where the shots were coming from and dashed towards the spot.

However, by then Sergeant Ljudmilla Mosin was out of the door and ascending the stairs, her trusty lasrifle, sniper variant, held firmly in both hands.

{oOo}


	149. Invasion IV

{oOo}

It took Jarilo about sixteen seconds to decide that a melee weapon was not the best choice when fighting xenos that were that much agile than him. Another few moments of digging through the rubble and he had also managed to loot a splinter pistol, before heading forwards again.

He met surprisingly little resistance on his way. He had expected more aliens, but instead the way remind clear and… it was getting colder. Distinctly so. Jarilo stopped, one hand still on the wall of the building and looked around.

He could swear he saw movement out of the corner of the eye, but now where he had glimpsed something only sun shone upon a frost-rimmed puddle. He barely took another step when he felt something sharp brush against his calf.

Before the taloned hand could close on his leg, Jarilo jumped away. He was nowhere near as agile as the xenos, but he had always been able jump higher and move quicker than the other boys his age. He landed in the light, away from the shadows. He couldn't go back, something was lurking there!

He knelt down, gripping the looted gun in one hand, the other flat on the street. The staff-blade was lying only a few meters away where he dropped it, shrouded in the shadow of the hab block. He needed to focus. He needed to see.

The attacker was touching the ground as well, was he not?

He?

Jarilo focused, a silhouette taking form in the shadows. Before he could catch more, he heard something and rolled away. He felt a gust of wind behind him and heard a ghost of laughter, before silence fell again.

A ghost of a shape, moving through the shadows. Armed with an evil-looking blade.

Carefully, he aimed the alien weapon and breathed out. This was harder than he expected. Usually, he could only see into the past with his touch, but now he was forcing himself to see the present. The shadows weren't willing to trade their secrets, he had to wrestle every move, every glimpse out of them.

And then, he saw. The shape turned towards him, unaware it was fully visible now. It grinned a mad smile-

And crumpled to the ground.

The little xeno gun had hardly any recoil, Jarilo noted almost as an after-thought.

{oOo}


	150. Brotherhood II

{oOo}

Kharn sighed. He had practiced mournful sighing into an art form by now—and it wasn't that long since his Legion had finally been reunited with their Primarch. It was not that Kharn disliked Angron—far from it.

However, finding one's Primarch the best thing since sliced bread did not mean that Kharn could not approach to certain traits of his Lord without some criticism.

The floor shook and twin roars echoed from the nearby training cage as two Primarchs went at each other. Kharn ducked in time for a piece of a combat servitor to sail safely over his head. His counterpart from the other Legion looked anxiously in the direction of the cage.

"It's been six hours now," he said, frowning. "Do you suppose we should-"

"No," Kharn said firmly. While he did not expect Angron to get along with some of his brothers and it would be a pity if it turned out this would be such case, he was firmly convinced it was something his Lord would have to deal with on his own.

There was dull thump followed by the sound of something snapping. Both Marines winced and eyed the training cage uncertainly. It was oddly quiet there…

Then once Kharn almost succumbed to the urge of checking the door opened and the two Primarchs emerged, wearing nearly identical bloody grins.

Kharn twitched.

Angron looked like he had been hit with several trains, while Sanguinius appeared to have been run over by a herd of elephants and a tank.

"Rematch tomorrow without weapons?" the winged Primarch suggested, his arm slung over Angron's shoulders.

Kharn wondered why he wasn't relieved at all.

{oOo}


	151. Quiet Times

{oOo}

Kharn sighed. This time it was not mournful, however. The World Eater's captain was dressed in a khaki vest with far too many pockets and matching pants with even more pockets. The outfit was completed by a floppy head with fishing hooks stuck into it.

The sun was just starting to shine and he already had a bucketful of fish.

He pulled out another one and eyed it critically, before deciding it was too small and throwing it back into the river.

A much bigger fish sailed over his head in a graceful arc and landed right in the second—much bigger—bucket. Angron grinned, having just caught his sixteenth fish with his bare hands.

{oOo}


	152. Invasion V

{oOo}

Auset sat cross legged in her cell. Her hands placed on her knees, eyes closed, she appeared to completely ignore the grim surroundings.

"I am a daughter of flames."

Her voice was quiet and steady, repeating the words she had learned so long ago when she was taken in to the Order. It was not a beautiful voice, but it was firm and strong.

"My will and heart are fire. Where I go, wickedness perishes."

"Will you stop that, mon-keigh?" one of her captors snapped.

A small smile crept on Auset's lips as she noted just how agitated he was. He didn't like the words for they made him realize he could not break her. She was a daughter of flames.

"My wrath will scorch the damned. My hatred will burn the debased."

"That is it!" the dark one growled. "I warned you, bitch. Now you will mrgl?"

Auset opened her eyes and found herself staring at an unexpected scene. The Dark Eldar guard was slumping bonelessly to the floor, while a boy of sixteen was fighting to pull out one of the blade-staves those "Hellions" used.

"Thank you, child," she said as she rose. The boy winced as he stared at her. Perhaps her size surprised him: she towered over him easily. Perhaps it was the muscle mass or the scars. Or maybe it was the ruined mess where her left eye used to be. "Now let me out. I have wicked to purge."

{oOo}

The youth obeyed.


	153. Unawares

{oOo}

Lorgar had remembered that Azmina Dorn could control metal. She had a variety of party tricks, such as turning her fan into knives or making ornamental chains dance, revolving around that power. They had been quite cute and amusing, but somehow it had always eluded him that Senshi Venus was actually dangerous. She had always been cheerful.

She wasn't cheerful now. Her mouth was set into a grim line and he was struck just how much she was like Rogal Dorn. Focused. Furious.

And far too damn inventive.

He had to twist and turn with every move as what had been links of chain whirled around him like mass of angry hornets. She somehow made the things have sharp edges as the cuts on his face could attest.

Angrily, he lashed out of his psychic powers, melting the metal to slag, only to feel a sudden stab of pain in his side. He wasn't even surprised when he found that she managed to stab him and made his armor reform to allow her to do so. Still, she was now in his reach and so, he bore down at hear, ready to smash her head-

Only to stumble back with howl of pain. The molten links had wrapped around his hands and wrists, like white rope.

"We were family," she hissed.

It was the first mistake she made. Not because he could do anything, but because for a moment she let her hatred cloud her mind. For one moment she did not pay attention to her surroundings, just long enough for Argel Tal to bear on her.

Angrily, Lorgar tried to force his burnt hands to obey and tear of the iron rope binding them, but he knew he would be too late. He cursed his own weakness again and again, but he had seen this day. He finally managed to tear the binds of—just in time to see his son die.

She had turned his own armor against him.

{oOo}


	154. Merciless

{oOo}

Mael ran. He lost count how many times he had stumbled, cursing his choice of footwear with every step. His hands were bloody and so were his knees. In itself, it wouldn't even faze him. He welcomed pain, though by now such little pricks were more annoying then exhilarating.

Now, however, he felt sober. His mind was absurdly clear, the words "I'm dead" repeating in his head like a broken record. If only he knew he was running away from HER. But the mist, the thrice-damned mist, thick as soup and white as milk, was obscuring everything. He hoped he was running straight.

Then he stumbled again. This time he didn't manage to stop his fall and found himself staring at… at… He swallowed convulsively. The body was drier than paper, crumbling under his touch. With a start, he realized he knew it.

It had been Tae. Voluptuous Tae with too many piercings to count and tattoos covering every inch of her sensuous body was now reduced to a dry sad husk.

He retched as he scrambled away on all four, fervently begging the Dark Prince of Pleasure to make this only a very vivid nightmare. It was meant to have been any easy little jaunt. Kill some meaningless peons, have some fun… Nobody told him SHE would be there. Nobody told him SHE was capable of this!

He remembered the silly TV show. They only talked about her in conjecture with technology. He giggled wildly, tears dripping down his face.

And then SHE was there. Calm and stern, the blue robe hugging her figure and swaying as she approached him.

Water was merciless, he realized with a start. SHE was the flood. SHE was the glacier.

"I'm sorry!" he babbled. "Don't hurt me, don't hurt me! I didn't mean to, it was only fun! They weren't important! I'll tell you all, just don't drown me, I'll be good. Please, oh, please, don't take away the water, I will be good, I swear. I won't come near a child ever again! They like it, please, they do, they ask me for it! Please, have mercy!"

Why was he so cold? Something was wrong, it hurt! Word kept pouring out of his mouth, as she stood there, watching as the water in his body froze.

Her eyes were blue and cool, like mountain pools. She never said a word.

{oOo}


	155. Knocked

{oOo}

Arrows are by themselves a simple projectile—merely the extension of a sharpened stick. Nevertheless, for ages bow and arrow had been the distance weapon. Only the invention of gunpowder had displaced it and reduced them to a fancy toy.

For the average ork, it was even less than that. It was not loud enough for a proper long range weapon. The bowman was not up close to spill the blood.

Ira could not disagree more. She carefully aimed towards the sky, as Phobos and Daimos soared into the sky. The crows dodged and danced in the air avoiding stray bullets and grot-guided missiles with equal speed. The single flaming arrow followed their path, no more than a blur, leaving the orks in a daze as they tried to find the source of the deafening roar that followed the red flash. Then it started descending in zigzagging wild arch, to pierce the head of one of the gargants.

The projectile tore through metal and body as it sought its final destination. One surprised Ork found himself with a singed hole in his hand. Another had been pierced from skull to crotch. And then, finally, the arrow struck true.

The reactor powering the pinnacle of orky technology was as stable as the rest of the gargant. The flames carried by the arrow were quite enough to trigger something very wrong in it and soon enough the explosion tore the gargant to pieces.

Debris flew in all directions, along with balls of flame. Most of it hit the other three gargants, along with the press of orkish bodies that surrounded them. Some, however, flew in the direction of the Imperial lines. None reached them. The fire veered wildly of target, pushing the debris of course.

Ira carefully aimed the second arrow as Phobos and Daimos sought out the largest ork in the field.

{oOo}


	156. Invasion VI

{oOo}

Jarilo felt young, inexperienced and weak standing next (or rather slightly behind) Sister Auset. She was easily two meters tall and had broader shoulders than him. Perhaps when she was younger, she could have been attractive, but now… Now she was missing an eye and the part of her face surrounding the empty socket was red scar tissue.

Nevertheless, there was a certain feral grace to her, something that said 'predator'. She held the blade-staff with confidence, while Jarilo was left with his looted gun. Still, she would probably be the best ally he could have in this place. There were other captives there. He had snuck by several xenos, all of them staring apathetically at the walls or ceilings. There had been some humans too, but she was the only one that appeared focused and present.

"Ma'am? I don't think we should just walk around like this," he said uncertainly.

Her brow creased lopsidedly and she seemed to be on the verge of snapping, before she nodded curtly. Jarilo breathed out a sigh of relief. He still didn't know how he'd find his little sister. She was clearly somewhere on the ship, but there were no helpful signs to point him in the right direction. He did hope they didn't keep her in one of the cells where she would see those wretches that were the victims of the Dark Eldar.

"Do you know where they could be keeping my sister?" he asked nervously.

Auset eyed him, before nodding curtly. "One of the holds—that's where they keep the fresh… catches."

Finding the hold had not been too hard. It was quite near the cells, but it turned out to be better guarded. To Jarilo it looked like a daunting task but Auset appeared to be quite confident. She held her hand up and Jarilo obediently waited for her sign.

He felt his heart skip a beat when suddenly, the woman simply charged at the two Eldar. The first died quickly enough, falling prey to the blade staff Jarilo had looted, but the second had enough time to catch what was going on and managed to dodge the strike aimed at his neck.

Like a snake, the Eldar twisted and struck. He was far too fast turning in ways that human body could not hope to match—not that Auset attempted that. She moved out of the way—barely in time—and slammed her leg into the creatures back sending it face first into the wall. The guard was clearly dazed and this time did not manage to avoid the blade.

His body slumped next to his comrade and Jarilo placed his hand on the wall next to the control panel operating the door. Carefully, he repeated the actions that the previous user of the panel had taken. The door opened with a hiss and suddenly, Jarilo found himself holding his little sister.

"How are we going to get her out?" Auset asked, doubtfully.

{oOo}


	157. Unexpected

{oOo}

Li'Sun'Yi had heard the gue'la talk about some of their leaders perform feats that could only be described as magic. She dismissed it, naturally. It was probably scare tactics or propaganda. Really, controlling storms? Next the gue'la would start claiming that the Etherals controlled the four castes with pheromones!

She marched and took position with her fellow Fire Warriors, secure in the knowledge that the gue'la would charge obligingly into their guns. She felt some pity towards them—poor victims of propaganda, children of a bloody regime, so indoctrinated that they could not see the Greater Good. Still, some would have to be sacrificed so that the rest may find itself under the benevolent rule of the Tau.

Then she suddenly found herself in the middle of a storm of pink flower petals. It took her completely by surprise—and not only her. Things like that ought not to happen on the battlefield.

Then, equally suddenly, she heard a roar. Quickly, she whirled to see most of her unit dead. The ones furthest from her were merely charred meat and molten slag, but the ones near her were merely twitching on the ground as if electrocuted.

Li'Sun'Yi took a few steps back, swinging her gun wildly, trying to figure out what in the world was happening. She could hear panicked voices in the comm—thunder from nowhere, plants coming to life, armors turning against their owners.

Chaos. It was pure chaos.

And then the storm died down. In the distance she saw two figures. One in green, the other in yellow. They were holding hands.

Then suddenly the voices in the com started dying down. What was going on?

Then her world turned black and silent, sharp pain lashing through her body as the electronics in her suit fused and died. She tore down her helmet and fell to her knees, retching. Around her, others were doing the same or screaming in pain, stumbling, moaning, begging for help, for information.

Chaos. It was pure chaos.

{oOo}


	158. Invasion VII

{oOo}

Jarilo bit the inside of his lip. How would he get Zaria out, indeed? He should have thought this through. He had managed to sneak in that far, but really just two guards to keep an eye on a Senshi? It sounded too good to be true.

He felt his sister tug on his sleeve and patted her head soothingly.

"Do you have any ideas?" he asked a frowning Auset.

"We ought to retrace our steps," she said.

Zaria tugged on Jarilo's hand harder, forcing him to look at her. The girl opened her palm to show him three glowing marbles.

"I figured out how to make them," she said. "I can make holes in metal with them."

Jarilo blinked. His little sister was awakening just now. The tiny smooth globes shone gently in her hand like the three moons that orbited Zorya. An inkling entered his mind. Perhaps…

"Hold my hand," he said. His sister did so without hesitation.

He heard that the Senshi Majoris could join their powers. Perhaps it would be possible for him and his sister then? He had no offensive power to speak of, but he could lend Zaria control and strength to aid her awakening calling.

He ignored Auset's alarmed look and focused. The tiny orbs grew brighter and larger slowly lifting from Zaria's hand. They circled them for a few moments until the first detached itself from the orbit and slammed through the walls of the hold, creating a clear path.

It also likely alarmed the remaining Dark Eldar. Jarilo grabbed his sister and ran, Auset close behind. The two remaining orbs circled around them.

He could hear a scream behind them and something flew over his head. A moment later the second orb detached itself, passed Auset and there was more screaming and the sound ripping metal. Jarilo didn't look back.

There was a hole in the hull of the ship. They actually managed to blow a hole big enough for all of them three stand in it.

He jumped, Auset right behind him.

{oOo}


	159. Silence

{oOo}

She stands alone, fragile and pale; one young woman against a sea of the diseased, the forsaken and the damned. She is silent and somehow it silences them in turn. Like a wave, the singing, the cursing and the jokes die down. It's like an invisible current and each of them feels that they are standing in front of their mortal enemy.

She has no mercy for them. They have all heard of the desolation she leaves in her wake: the myriads of lovingly nourished bacteria, the billions of fungi, the scores of maggots, ticks and the flies all die when she commands it.

Father Nurgle teaches his children to love all life, to embrace even the tiniest bacteria. He shares his carefully cultivated disease without discrimination: rich or poor, young or old, beautiful or ugly, all are equal before him. All can throw away the fear of death, for Father Nurgle does not like parting with his children.

She brings this fear back to them. It is merely enough for her to point her glaive at them and the silence grow tense. Gracefully, she swipes it in a vertical arc. They fall like puppets with torn strings, as the Neverborn disappear wailing one last song.

And Typhus, the Herald, tells his tale once more. From all their enemies, she is the one they ought to hate most. For where she goes death follows.

She is the Messiah of Silence.

{oOo}


	160. Invasion VIII

{oOo}

Auset had to wonder about the boy. He was actually running faster than her, while carrying a ten-years-old. She didn't have much time to consider any of this, though, given that there was pursuit, though fortunately still far behind them.

The Dark Eldar did not want to shoot at them, likely for fear of killing the young Senshi Minoris and so were forced to run after them. Technically, they ought to have caught up with them by now, but Jarilo and Zaria had managed to cause enough damage to the ship with the third orb to stall the Eldar for some time.

She wondered how soon the two could repeat that attack. Auset was no specialist on Senshi Minoris, but she was quite certain most of them were older when they manifested their powers.

They took a sharp turn and found themselves facing more Dark Eldar. A group of nearly nude Dark Eldar fighting each other, to be precise. They didn't seem to have noticed them, Auset realized just as Jarilo grabbed her shoulder and pulled her into a secluded corridor.

"We're doing it the wrong way," he wheezed, as he put his sister down. "We can't just run around blindly, hoping to find a way out."

Auset cocked her head to the side, then nodded. "We don't have a map, kid."

She was quite surprised when Jarilo shook his head and grinned. "But we do have a map," he said, placing his hand on the wall. "It's right here."

It was harder then he had expected. Usually, he saw what happened to an object if he touched it. He generally concentrated on small spaces of time and things that fit in the palm of his hand. Now he was trying to see all that happened on the ship—all the paths that were crossed, all the corners and nooks one could hide in…

The knowledge poured into his mind: the sound of steps, the rasping breaths, the smell of stale sweat and fear. The ship was made from fear and suffering. It was a screaming, howling monument of terror and pain. There were voices begging for help, for the pain to stop all around him. Ghosts of beings long dead, sad remains of once powerful warriors, loving mothers and strong craftsmen filled every inch of the ship. And with them there was the echo of cruel laughter, but once laced with fear and hunger.

He bit his lip to stop himself from crying and focused. He needed a way out.

Focus.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

See.

Jarilo opened his eyes and rubbed the tears away from his face.

"I'm fine," he said, in response to Auset's and Zaria's worried looks. "It's… this ship is simply a very bad place."

He took another breath and took Zaria's hand again. For a moment, he simply held her hand, reminding himself that no matter what he had seen; his little sister was safe and was with him. He just had to get her out.

"Try creating those energy orbs again, okay?" he said.

Zaria nodded and closed her eyes. This time the orbs didn't appear in the palm of her hand and instead orbited her from the start. Jarilo noted with certain surprise that their positions mirrored those of Zorya's moons.

Then he breathed in and started pouring his power into them as well.

The first orb went down directly, ripping a hole in the floor. Jarilo picked his sister up and simply jumped down. He was rather surprised to find that Auset didn't follow his steps and opted on dropping herself carefully from the deck to deck.

By the time she caught up with them, the Dark Eldar managed to shake of the first shock, but by then Jarilo and Zaria had managed to rip another hole in the ship, this time straight in front of them. Sunlight was pouring through the hole.

{oOo}


	161. Invasion IX

{oOo}

By the point Jarilo, Auset and Zaria emerged from the ship, the whole city knew about the Dark Eldar. The PDF had been alarmed and while still in some stage of disarray started pushing back against the xenos. The Lunar Shields, while still under-strength, had arrived as well and it was becoming clearer and clearer that the Dark Eldar lacked any sort of leadership.

The appearance of Space Marines, even those from a newly created Chapter was the final hurdle the Dark Eldar simply couldn't defeat. They had been prepared for a raid and now without the iron hand of the Archon to keep them in line and coordinate their actions, the Dark Eldar were making one mistake after another.

That did not mean that Zorya would remain unscathed by the events: there were many wounded and dead. Some buildings had been rather badly damaged. Nevertheless, the planet, even the city would recover.

The main worry soon became less the xeno threat and more the fact that Senshi Zorya was still missing. The Lunar Shields sent out whole two Squads to search. Only to stumble at the small party as it was heading back to the city.

Jarilo was leaning heavily on Auset, who, despite having spent quite some time in captivity and being only dressed in her underwear, was holding up quite well. Zaria was clinging to her brother, which made walking for him even harder.

Sergeant Vuk felt quite relieved and started questioning Auset about what happened almost immediately. It was only when Zaria kicked his armored shin and called him a "poopie" did he figure he could lend her his cloak. The story he was hearing was not something he had expected at all.

"I'm supposed to protect everyone on the planet, right?" Zaria asked Jarilo.

It had been a few days since the Dark Eldar had been driven off. To say it had been hectic would be an understatement. Jarilo had to tell the story over and over: to Sergeant Vuk, to his Captain once the Marine had voxed him, then to several police officers and then it started snowballing until he, Sister Auset and Zaria were suddenly talking with Chapter Master Ctirad and First Lord of Zorya-Uniegost, telling the same story to them.

But now things were finally slowing down and the only sign of changes was the fact that Zaria now had bodyguards. Two Space Marines followed her wherever she went. Even now to the two stood in Jarilo's room, like two ceramite statues.

Jarilo did his best to ignore them and act naturally as he answered, "Yes, you are."

His little sister gave him a solemn look. "I'm not doing very well, am I?"

Jarilo shook his head. "Nobody expects you to start so early."

"But those xenos killed a lot of people to get me," Zaria protested. "Wouldn't we be better off if I-"

One of the Astartes shook his head. The contrast between this movement and his previous immobility was so sharp the two fell silent.

"No," the Marine said, as he started taking of his helmet. His voice was deep, reminding Jarilo of a bear's growl. "True, a lot of people died this time. But the next time they will come you will be prepared. You already awoke your powers—and if you want you will find many teachers."

He looked at them, a giant with a scarred face. One of his eyes had been replaced by a red lens, but the other was brown. "We are here to protect you until you can fight on your own. It is only up to you when this moment will come, Senshi."

There are many different ways a person might attract the attention of the Inquisition. Most instances of higher education are under observation and prospective candidates are judged by the skill set needed by the Inquisition. Other agents comb through reports, looking for specific kind of feats: ones that show daring, the ability to think quickly and most importantly to uncover secrets. The Imperial Inquisition never sleeps, after all.

The disappearance of young Senshi Zorya was well documented and so was her subsequent rescue. Both Zaria and Jarilo had been interviewed several times. Auset had to write an official report too. It was therefore no wonder that one of the many savants working for the External Relations branch of the Inquistion had Jarilo as a potential candidate and pushed his files to a higher instance.

It took approximately three months before the file finally arrived at the desk of Inquisitor Xaro Zevran.

{oOo}


	162. Howling

{oOo}

Air is something one does not notice. It is something that is taken for granted and not thought about. It's invisible, intangible… One does not think about it being there.

Dem Tallear noticed with some annoyance that the wind was strong. It was tugging at his clothes and blowing dust into his eyes. He grimaced as he leveled his gun, as he lay on his stomach, mostly hidden by the tall grass. The green strands were by now bent low, the protection they offered growing less and less. Dem didn't particularly like it, but he was quite certain it would be of little importance.

According to his intel, those white giants would be marching past soon. All he had to do was get their leader. Small, blonde—they would be hard to miss between the giant interlopers. He lowered his face for a moment, eyes closed, wishing to shield it from the wind for a moment. A moment later he felt the wind finally quiet, but… the noise!

He raised his head only to see wind. Somehow, he was inside a tornado, in the only calm spot. The realization took his breath away. How did that happen? There had been no sign before. The sky had been clear!

Dem buried his face in the grass and prayed it was only a dream.

The White Scars rode through the plains in silence. All around them, the destruction left in the wake of the tornado. They did not fear the element.

Not with Esin in the lead.

{oOo}


	163. Relentless

{oOo}

The Iron Warrior stumbled. He shouldn't be out of breath and yet his hearts were hammering, his lungs were burning and every step he made was agony. The Warsmith started to bark an order at him, but his broke into wretched coughing. Just next to him, one of his brothers fell, wheezing through the rapidly corroding mouth grille of his helmet.

He turned around, his muscles obeying him grudgingly and raised his bolter. He scarcely recognized it—it looked ancient, so different from the clean mechanism he'd held just this morning.

The xenos were nearing. They were diminutive, swathed in dirty rags and yet they had them running. Everything around the Hrud died, aging in a blink of an eye. The Marine knew it was over for him, as he pulled the trigger. The mechanism was ages old by now and jam-

The bolter fired. The muzzle was suddenly loosing the patina of ages, and the Iron Warrior felt invigorated. Young. The Hrud stopped, milling about uncertainly as the grass around them turned green again.

Slowly, almost like a ghost, a slender figure brushed past the Iron Warriors. In her hands, she held a staff. The xenos watched her approach as if mesmerized and the Marine was suddenly of a sight from his childhood: a rat, huddled in a corner, still, watching as a snake slithered towards it.

Then, the first of the Hrud collapsed, its cloak turning to dust, its body oozing from its bones. Soon others joined its fate until finally millions of small skeletons littered the green plain.

{oOo}


	164. On the Emperors Astartes

{oOo}

**On the Emperor's Astartes**

**Volume I**

**Chapter II: The Emperor Children**

_ Psykana – The Phoenix Choir_

The Emperor's Children had never boasted a great number of psykers. However, it had never daunted those brave warriors. As with many other disadvantages the III Legion has braved this obstacle with their usual perfectionism and unique approach.

As most of my readers know, the Librarians of Space Marine Legions are hardly ever serene psykers. The reasons for this are many, starting with the fact that the serene psykers are even rarer than the usual ones and ending with the fact that their skills tend to be geared at one particular skill, usually of the passive kind. While it certainly is an immense relief to have somebody who can weaken Warp Spawn by their mere presence, the Adeptus Astartes tend to need more aggressive support. It is a well-known fact that the rigorous training and discipline maintained by the Space Marines minimizes the risks that psykers regularly run into.

In this respect, the Emperor's Children pursue a unique approach to the training of their Librarians, possibly inspired by Senshi Chemos. Their psykers are trained solely into focusing their powers through their voice. Starting with devastating sonic attacks and confusing the enemy with projections of their voice to finally arrive at converting sound into energy, as demonstrated by Chief Librarian Tuillius Valerio, the Emperor's Children seem to have reached a unique understanding of psychic powers.

The Librarians of the Emperor's Children operate most efficiently when gathered in one unit—the famous Phoenix Choir.

{oOo}


	165. The Quest

{oOo}

_The Quest_

{oOo}

Leman of the Russ watched the flames flicker from his seat. The golden glow reflected in his eyes and made his red hair seem even more vivid. Today, there was no feasting in the halls. Today, he was alone.

"You need a wife," Bulveye had said.

Leman had agreed. A leader must have a wife and sons. It had always been so. But then, he was not just some little kingling, who clung to tradition like a crumbling wooden shield. Tradition was… it was like rumors, like words—a knife that if wielded correctly could give you a swift victory without risk.

And so, Leman of the Russ did not intend to follow tradition blindly, but bend it to his will. Let people speak in awe of him, let them tremble and fear, but let them feel there had never been one like him. If he was to marry, he needed to make sure it served this purpose. Land, riches… Oh, those would be useful, but what he needed was a legend.

They called her the Stormcaller now. It had been some time since Leman had seen her, but she did not appear to have changed much. Except for growing taller. She was now as tall as some of his warriors, though much more aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

The air smelled of storms. Oh, he could smell all sorts of other things: food, ash, burning wood, sweat… But it was a curious thing. They were inside and she was the one who smelled of storms. Where the stories true then?

"I'd speak with you alone," he announced loudly.

The Stormcaller appeared somewhat taken aback, but nodded and shooed the others out. Leman's warriors trailed behind them, Bulveye giving his king an uncertain look.

He turned to the young gythja and for a brief moment they simply watched one another.

"You look well, Thora," he finally said.

"So do you," she replied, smiling at him warmly. "What brings you here?"

"I intend to marry you," he said firmly and was rewarded with a surprised look.

"Well, I suppose-" she started to say, her cheeks turning pink, but he held out his hand.

"No, don't agree just yet," he said firmly. "There are tales about both of us. I am a mighty warrior, a king. They call you the Stormcaller."

She arched her eyebrows, but nodded slowly. A gythja learned many things and Leman of the Russ had long ago noticed that the priests and priestesses knew how people worked. She would know what he meant. She would agree.

"You need to test me," he said firmly.

Slowly, she nodded again, flashing him a smile, before growing serious. Then as he stood and waited, she called his warriors and her companions back, before standing in front of him. Her gaze appeared serious, but he could catch the slightest quirk at the edge of her mouth. She was amused, then.

"Your proposal flatters me," she said, her voice clear and firm. "You are a mighty warrior and a great king. But I do not know if this makes you worthy of me. You shall prove yourself to me. I will have three tests for you. Come tomorrow and face the first one, Leman of the Russ."

{oOo}


	166. The Three Tests of Russ I

{oOo}

I. _Strength_

{oOo}

On the first day, Thora Stormcaller said, "You have slain beats and men alike, Leman of the Russ. All know tales of your strength, and all know it cannot be rivaled by any beast or man. It would be pointless to ask you to slay yet another, for what test would it be for you to perform a deed you have done hundreds of times?"

The warriors, the women folk, the old and skjald all murmured in assent. The King of the Russ watched the gythja in silence, waiting for her to reveal what she had planned.

"Instead I will ask not to kill. You will go to the mountains and find the drakes."

The men and women of the Russ were puzzled—if the Stormcaller did not wish their King to slay any beast, why would she ask him to find a drake?

"Find the mightiest one and overpower it. Do not slay it, but show it you are its master. Tame it and bring it here."

Ten days passed and the people grew fearful. Had their King been slain? Would Leman Russ not come back? Was the test too hard even for him?

On the eleventh day, the women folk gathered around the gythja and started accusing her of killing their King with her vanity. They screamed, cried and raved until Thora finally had enough.

"Silence!" she snapped. "Are you women of the Russ or frightened babes? Do you have such little faith in your King?"

Most of the women fell silent, shamed by their own weakness, but one old crone kept hissing angry diatribes at the young gythja. She called her a vain sorceress, who had enthralled the King and sent him to death, no doubt to snap his power for herself.

But as she ranted, a mighty roar thundered outside. The women rushed outside along with the warriors and the children. As they went outside, they saw a magnificent drake sitting placidly like a hen on the snow. Beside it, Leman Russ stood, his might hand resting on the beasts flank.

And so did Russ pass the first test.

{oOo}


	167. The Three Tests of Russ II

{oOo}

_II. Cunning_

{oOo}

The skjald Olvir Hnufa seemed young for his fame, a beardless and apparently made up entirely of arms and legs. His father and grandfather had been skalds as well: the elder to the Chief of the Doomwhale clan in their days of greatness and the son so fine that it was said that Rudri Oakenshield had stormed the Doomwhale's village with only forty warriors and laid waste to their menfolk simply so that he could lay claim to the man's talents. Thora had heard on the wind that the third of the Hnufa skjalds was the greatest by far and so Russ had gone alone into the Oakenshield's territory, snatching Olvir from the longship of the aged Rudri and making his escape unmarked by the lookouts.

Stood upon the field outside Thora's longhouse Olvir studied his surroundings with wide eyes. All his surroundings save for Leman Russ himself. Despite the temptation, the draw of his terrible charisma, the youth was careful not to look upon the giant that men called the Wolf King directly. The one time that he had, he'd fainted dead away and had to be revived with a pail of water.

"R-riddles?" the skjald asked, his adam's apple bobbing as he swalowed. He could identify the men and women of the inner circle around him by myth and legend of their deeds over the last five long Fenrisian years. And behind them, gathered from miles around, were hundreds and thousands of tall warriors, axes polished and shields burnished for them by the women and children that accompanied them.

"Yes," Thora replied and Olvir fought to hide his blush as he looked at the famous Stormcaller again. Russ knew that Thora was more frightening to a young man in certain ways than the Wolf King himself. He would have been lying to say that he did not know of that fear, though as with all things he had conquered it. "We heard stories of your word-cunning. You shall test Leman of the Russ if he has the mind of a true king."

The skjald's wits appeared to wander for a several heartbeats before he gathered them to nod convulsively and utter a weak: "Yes." He was sweating profusely - Russ could smell his fear.

The warriors watched, the maids listened. An elder next to the fire snorted through his grey beard, when the skjald failed to produce any noise. It seemed to finally jolt the youth into action, though his voice shook as he spoke:

"A hoard of rings am I,

but no fit gift for a bride;

I await a sword's kiss."

A simple riddle to begin. Well, that was good sense on Olvir's part, Russ reflected. A short and easy riddle for the start would allow to get the onlookers into the spirit and the moments as it was recited and answered would permit that a more challenging riddle be thought on.

"A suit of chainmail," the King of Wolves replied impatiently. "Come, boy, is that all?"

While Olvir's cheeks coloured faintly once again, this time it was anger and not fear that Russ's keen nose could scent from him. The skjald shook his head, eyes flickering for a moment as he sought inspiration. Russ watched him, following his gaze. He wondered if the youth would be careless enough to watch something longer, giving him a hint of where his thoughts would settle. A moment to cast the target into the formalities of a riddle and then:

"The Moon is my father,

the Sea is my mother;

I have a million brothers,

I die when I reach land."

Better, better, conceded Russ. But still not what he would call hard: even if the boy hadn't looked at an oar resting next to the wall, the Sea and Moon gave it away. "A wave," Russ declared without hesitation. "Try something longer, boy. Or are the tales of your cunning all lies?"

"On that you would be the judge," Olvir answered him swiftly. "This riddle did my grandsire craft and in all his years never did any man, nor even my sire, answer truly. Only as he lay dying did I solve it. Here is the riddle, Wolf King:"

"A wonderful warrior exists on earth.

Two dumb creatures make him grow bright between them.

Enemies use him against one another.

His strength is fierce but a woman can tame him.

He will meekly serve both men and women

If they know the trick of looking after him

And feeding him properly.

He makes people happy.

He makes their lives better.

But if they let him grow proud

This ungrateful friend soon turns against them."

The gathered crowd started muttering between themselves, trying to guess what it could be. Leman Russ arched one thick eyebrow in what some might think was careful thought. But it was not. This was meant to be a test of cunning and yet… Yet he did not feel tested at all. He could not imagine how the answer did not leap to the lips of all around them.

Still, as the King, he had his role to play. "You play with words and hide the meaning, boy, but I can see through fog and storm. The warrior is fire."

The skjald spread his hands in submission that this was correct and a cheer rose all around, masking the murmurs as those nearer the front repeated riddle and answer to those who stood further away. "All know that you are axe-crafty, Leman Russ, and how you have show yourself word-crafty also. I have set you three riddles and you guessed them all. Give me your three in return."

Russ nodded. It was a fair trade and one that would sound well later. Perhaps he would keep Olvir Hnufa as a skjald within his retinue, adding his legend to his own. t would lead to war with Old Man Oakenshield but that would come upon Russ along any road. It might as well be for good reason as for mere ambition. He crossed his arms over his massive chest and said:

"Brighter then emeralds are we,

More radiant than the sun,

Twins who see far."

The skjald continued frowning, confused. It was not a very cunning riddle, Russ had to admit, but it didn't matter. The boy would not guess - his mind sought subtle cunning in the words and missed the answer that was entirely before him - but Thora already did, judging how her lips quirked in a smile.

At last Olvir lowered his head in shame. "I… do not know," the youth confessed.

"Are you blind boy?" the Kind of the Russ asked. "Why, Thora's eyes!" There was, he thought, a most fetching colour in his intended's cheeks when all eyes went to her face, but she stood tall and proud under their examination.

Realisation crossed the skjald's eyes. "I underestimated you, lord," he admitted. "I am ready now to answer your next riddle."

"Under the sky, I rage,

No blade can fight me,

No shield will halt me,

Stout wall may shield you from me,

Save that I truly show my fury."

The skjald bit the inside of his cheek, and for a moment Russ wondered at men that could not see the obvious before Olvir's eyes lit up in inspiration. "The answer is a storm," he announced confidently.

Leman Russ nodded his approval. "A storm," he agreed. Then he grinned ferally. "The last one, then, boy."

The riddle had come to him unbidden, the first time he heard Thora's uncles exchanging riddles by a hearth years ago, somewhere from the mist of… whatever had been before Fenris. It wasn't his, it was not one any of the Russ might have told themselves by the fire. It was alien and ancient.

"Of legs I have four in the dawning,

Yet raise the sun high and I walk on two legs,

Only to need three legs as the sun sets."

The youth was silent, as Russ had expected. So too was the crowd. It was not a riddle that they were familiar with and he could see many of his warriors in the crowd, those who considered themselves to be crafty, twisting their faces as their thoughts raced to conceive an answer, for if Olvir Hnufa could not solve the riddle then there would be great glory for the man who could.

At length it grew obvious that Olvir did not know the answer. "I have no answer, lord."

Russ shook his head in disappointment and then looked around the crowd. "Would another answer this riddle?" he called out.

A few words were shouted in reply by bolder men but none were correct and it was plain that the warriors were merely guessing. Russ sighed.

"What is the answer, lord Russ?" asked Olvir humbly.

"When you were newborn, skjald, did you not crawl on all fours?"

"Ah!" Understanding entered into his eyes. "And now I stand on two feet but when my face is lined and my hair white, I shall walk with the aid of a staff."

"Precisely."

Somewhere, a man must know the answer to this riddle unprompted. And perhaps the answer also to the riddle of Russ's origins. Someday Russ would find that man.

{oOo}

AN: Collabed by Bloody Mary and Drakensis


	168. Deluge

{oOo}

The soldiers were glad that the local guide was wrong - the river was still low enough over the ford that they could rush a force across. Two hundred men and thirty fighting vehicles in the rear of the invaders who called themselves the Emperor's Children would shatter their logistical base and delay the assault on their city for several days.

They weren't alarmed when they saw a lone woman watching them cross the ford, the inches deep water fanning out in great wakes down stream as they rushed through it. A sentry was only to be expected, and who cared what she reported when they were almost across and...

Hundreds of tons of water, packed up half-a-mile distant as if by a dam, slammed into the flank of the little column like an avalanche. Four of the fighting vehicles were simply crushed by the impact, the others spinning away in the current, tumbling like shards of wood rather than multi-ton military vehicles. Those which had had open hatches flooded almost immediately.

One survivor would claw his way out of the river, almost forty miles away. Fortunately for him, it was on the Imperial side and so he was simply taken into custody rather than given a spare rifle and pushed out in front of the approaching Emperor's Children to force them to expend one more bolter-shell or swipe of a sword on the way to the city walls.

But that was more than an hour in the future. For now, Sailor Neptune simply raised her mirror and told Fulgrim that the ford was secured.

{oOo}

AN: Written by drakensis.


	169. The Three Tests of Russ III

__{oOo}

_III. Trust_

{oOo}

Thora toyed with a strand of her hair, curling a ringlet around her finger and uncurling it. She knew Leman was enjoying the tests. They had all been his ideas, after all. She didn't need to test him, but she had agreed to once he asked. He was the King that the Russ needed and if she could help him solidify his rule, she would.

The final test, however… He might have denied it, but she wondered, if he wasn't really going to test himself this time—and her.

She let her hand fall and sat still for a moment, before rising. It was time. She left the longhouse, walking in measured stately steps, until she stopped in the snow. The wind was calm this day and the Russ have gathered once more to watch.

She could see the young skjald in the background, clearly ready to record what would come. It was time for the show to start.

"Leman of the Russ," she said in a clear voice. "I have tested your courage and I have tested your cunning. You have proven both times to have the heart and mind of a king! Yet, a king you might be, but it is not all I seek."

She extended her hand and continued, "A man must trust his wife. Come and take my hand, Leman of the Russ!"

Then a lightning bolt flashed just in front of her, melting the snow where it hit. The people took steps back, whispering at the display of power. Leman Russ merely grinned.

She watched him walk towards her, ignoring the thunder striking around him—and mused how somebody who's hair was standing from the static, could still look imposing—and watched him ignore the sharp biting wind. The snow around her had melted by now and one patches of the ground underneath had been vitrified. The onlookers had withdrawn even further, their faces highlighted into monstrous masks each time lightning hit.

They watched their king risk their life and watched their gythja call on powers that must have seemed impossible. Perhaps they had not realized exactly just how much she could do—most shaman could really only perform simple tricks and would merely hint at the powers the supposedly possessed.

And yet, none of them had felt the wind that danced around Thora. None had even felt the slightest kiss of the thunder that flashed every few seconds. Only their king was near enough for that and even he appeared unscathed.

Of course, Leman Russ knew she wouldn't intentionally strike him and now… She thought she understood what this test was for: she knew just what a cunning bastard he was, but now she knew the cunning bastard had faith in her.

She smiled when the large hairy hand closed around her fingers.

{oOo}


	170. Light in the Dark

{oOo}

There was a tiny knock on his door. Lorgar turned to look at it. He had no interest in talking to anybody. His stays at the Imperial Palace, already as short as he could make them, where unpleasant enough without interacting with his brothers or any of the women who made up their sister's bodyguard. Seeing their closeness only made him uneasy, unsure. Aside from Magnus, and Horus, he had never felt able to relate to any of them, and now he no longer tried. And both of them were not on Terra, otherwise he would not have come at all.

The tiny knock was repeated and he became aware it was unlikely that it was any of his brothers. They wouldn't bother to knock a second time, just either leave or enter. A soft prickle of curiosity twitched inside the empty pit that was his heart these days. "Come in."

It was a slender girl, of maybe 13 years. At least, she looked 13 years. He recognised her, although it was a long time since he had spoken to her. It was Persephone, the girl his brother Mortarion had brought with him from Barbarus. She had been tiny back then, and his few memories of her were surprisingly fond. But ever since Lorgar had seen her only occasionally at Imperial functions, and no longer paid much attention to her. Now she was grown and almost haggart, dressed in a simple black dress, her pale face framed by dark hair. She still looked at him with a child's curiosity in her large luminescent eyes, though.

"Greetings, Uncle." Oddly stiff and formal, compared to their last meeting, Lorgar noted, before he caught the gaze of those dark eyes and found he could not look away. Despite her youth, they were full of darkness, of hidden knowledge. Eyes that had seen into the dark places of the universe. Her gown rustled softly as she stepped closer to the captivated Primarch.

He could see his own reflection in those eyes, his father's face and the golden skin espousing a wisdom he no longer dared believe. He was disappearing into the blackness, being swallowed by her eyes and the terrors of the night, and it cost him a lot more effort than he would have believed possible to break eye contact with her. Her face was creased with concern. "Are you all right?"

Temptation to brush her off was great. "Yes, I'm fine." His lie was unconvincing, and he knew it.

"I brought you a gift", she said.

Only now he realised she carried something in her hands, a box of stiff, white paper, about 30cm high and half as wide. She handed it to him, and he took it, surprised at the weight. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her pale mouth. "Open it, please."

He did, his confusion deepening as he pulled a small lamp from the box, an old fashioned one to be filled with flameable liquid. It stood easily on his large hand, the foot bronze-colored metal and the glass part frosted and covered in fine engravings. At first, they seemed to be nonsensical ornaments, then he realised it was a pattern. It reminded him of the waves of an ocean, endless and wild. On top of the lamp there was a metal ring, so it could be hung from the ceiling, too. It was beautiful, of exquisite craftsmanship. The faint smell of some sort of animal fat lingered around it, so it seemed to be full.

"Why?" He asked.

She looked up, and he barely evaded her gaze. "You will need it." And with that, she turned and left.

Lorgar did not call her back.

He woke, hearts racing, jaws clenched, blood drying on his face and his pillow. Decades of practice kept him from waking up screaming. The nightmare dreams were getting worse, as the time grew full. Slowly he pulled himself up on his ellbows, waiting. Waiting for the steps that would draw near.

An instinct he had never lost, although it was almost two centuries now, by any reckoning of time. His quarters were quiet, and he was alone. Only then he opened his eyes. A soft radiance filled the room... It should have made him start, as anything did when he woke like this. But it did not. Instead he found himself slowly turning his head, looking for the source, surfacing from the nightmare that was his past, present and future.

It was the lamp. The lamp Persephone had given him. It stood where he had left it the day before, on one of the many ornamental tables scattered around the room. The light was a gentle yellow, unlike the harsh glare of Colchis' sun. A slight, unfamiliar smile crept on his strained features, for once wholly genuine, as he settled back into the bed...

The girl had been right.

{oOo}

AN: And here is a piece from one of our more recent authors, Shan'xara~


	171. Entertainment of the Imperium V

{oOo}

_Uriel Ventris_ is perhaps not a phenomenon of the same scale as _The Saga of the Angry One_, but it does remain a firm favourite among the many action series, though oddly enough not on Ultramar. The show does not have a linear plot; instead each episode makes for a separate, unrelated story. The title character, obviously based on the current Ultramarine Captain of the 4th Company, is presented with a some sort of problem—usually in the form of heretics hatching a sinister plot and overcomes it by creative thinking and liberal application of fire power.

What does however make it unique, is that the protagonist tends to also end up trapped somewhere once an episode, only to escape by creating some sort of insane contraption built from scraps. No reason has been given for this, as the hero is not a Techmarine and has no other obvious ties to the Mechanicum.

Captain Ventris refuses to comment on the show, though he does appear to find it embarrassing.

{oOo}


	172. Imperial Literature XI

{oOo}

While the real and not so real romantic exploits of the Primarchs and the Senshi are a staple of the Imperial literature, these are not the only romance novels that have been produced about these important figures. Based no doubt on the perfectly natural urge to celebrate the perfection of humanity, of which the Primarchs are the embodiment, a certain audience enjoys far more books on the Primarchs themselves.

One of the most popular couples are of course Horus Lupercal and Sanguinius. Their friendship has always been a constant for the Imperium, and so certain writers chose to colour the truth. While some of the works are well-thought out (1), others unfortunately fall into stereotypes and forget that their theme is the perfection of humanity.

One startling example would be "Blood Fever" by Jun Ko Ga, wherein the author demonstrates a complete lack of understanding of what Space Marines and Primarchs are. In a blasphemous twist, it turns out that the Primarch of the Blood Angels suffers from a mysterious malady which causes him to crave human blood. His victim is Horus-and in a completely nonsensical development, the two become secret lovers because of this. The later part of the novel is mainly an excuse for the writer to indulge in lurid descriptions of intercourse. (2)

Another such unfortunate novel would be the infamous "Primarch Primarch" by Miki-yotsu, which in turn focuses on the issue of Sanguinius' wings. The author reaches pinnacles of contrivance wherein he presents them as the source of secret suffering for the Angel (completely ignoring the fact the Blood Angels modify their gear to mimic their Primarch). Horus, naturally, comes to the rescue and consoles his brother.

For some inexplicable reason, Primarch Sanguinius is very often (but not always) presented as both the receiving partner and a caricature of a sobbing maiden.

{oOo}

See (the creatively titled) "Angel and the Wolf" by G.T.

While the presence of a Scout Squad of the Blood Angels in the Hive where Jun Go Ka used to live has been proven, there is no proof linking them to the subsequent brutal murder of the unfortunate writer via exsanguinations.


	173. Lost Foundings

{oOo}

Ferrus Manus had never been good at such ephemeral things like atmosphere or mood. Nevertheless, he did notice something was very much amiss, when he entered the Fulgrim's chambers.

Roboute stood ramrod straight, while Fulgrim was staring at a goblet of wine with such attention it was wonder it wasn't squirming in discomfort. Had Ferrus been given to such things, he might have thought the air had grown chillier.

"What happened?" he asked, frowning.

"He," Fulgrim said, "was being obnoxiously smug about how many Chapters he has."

Simultaneously, Roboute said, "He said the Marines Malvolent are my descendants."

Ferrus Manus gave the two an exasperated look. "Well, they are-"

"I disowned them," Roboute growled. "Seven times."

"It's not my fault my Legion keeps getting nearly wiped out!" Fulgrim groaned.

"Look on the bright side," Ferrus said, somewhat lamely, "you could have ended up with the Minotaurs as your descendants."

He nearly didn't manage to dodge the two chairs that both Roboute and Fulgrim threw at him.

{oOo}


	174. The Death Lord and the Lord of Death

{oOo}

Primarchs rarely fought side-by-side: rarely did a threat show up that demanded two demi-gods of war to fight alongside one another, but when it did happen, it was a sight that both stirred hearts and made blood turn to ice.

Sanguinius dove, and tore the head of an ork from its shoulders with his bare hands. Without pausing, he lashed out with his sword and pierced another greenskin. One of his might pinions connected with the jaw of a particularly large specimen and sent it flying into the ranks of its compatriots.

Beside him, Mortarion's Lantern flared to life, sending bolts of plasma at the incoming orks.

"Brother Sanguinius?" the Pale King said, his low voice still clear over the din of battle. "We need to talk."

"Right now, brother?" the Angel replied.

"Yes," Mortarion replied grimly. "I have not said a word about your dev- psykers. I have tolerated your leniency for millennia now."

"Thank you?" Sanguinius answered quickly, and punched the head of a vicious green brute of its shoulders.

"You're welcome," the Primarch of the Death Guard said. "But there is one matter that cannot stand. It's an outrage."

With some apprehension, the Angel bade his brother to continue. What could have angered him so? Surely, none of his Librarians did anything especially offensive lately?

"Your Chief Vampire calls himself Lord of Death," Mortarion growled.

"It's fitting, given-" Sanguinius started to answer, but his brother interrupted.

"And what am I called?"

Sanguinius blinked. "But you're called the Death Lord and he's the Lord of Death. Surely, you're not going to-"

Mortarion snorted. "There are languages where there is no deference between the two. It's confusing, and I had my title first."

{oOo}


End file.
